


We All Fall Down (At Least We Tried)

by Amalspach



Category: The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Co-Written, Lots of OCs - Freeform, The Clave sucks, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, What else is new, catarina is a literal saint, daddy issues TM, faeries are complicated, like drowning in OCs, warlocks are fabulous, we have serious problems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-05-26 03:59:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14992274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amalspach/pseuds/Amalspach
Summary: Because even though they were a shadowhunter, a warlock, a vampire, a werewolf, and a faerie, they made their friendship work. Things were going well.. . . And then hijinks ensued.Follow the story of five friends as they face down the Clave, romantic subplots, teaching a class of high school students, social interaction, terrible father figures, societal progression, magic horses, and, of course, demons. Lots of demons. Not necessarily in that order.





	1. Here We Go Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cast and crew is established. The girls you argue with tend to be the girls that you like, Lock is sick of your crap, and music is cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so this was a fun multichapter thing co-written by me and my friend on fanfiction.net, CrystalHeartZyx. You should really go look at her page, by the way, she's awesome. 
> 
> Anyways, she had done this a while ago for recreational purposes and then I hijacked it and we kept writing the piece together. Now, for no reason other than 'I felt like it', here is this story. The first chapter is mainly introduction, but I promise that it will get better. 
> 
> And funnier. More idiotic comic relief will eventually come your way. 
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy!

_Here we go again_

_We're sick like animals  
_

_We play pretend_

_You're just a cannibal_

_And I'm afraid I won't get out alive . . ._

* * *

 

“Die in a ditch!” Pyre screeched.

“You first, it was your stupid idea!” Wolf combatted, baring his teeth. “You’re insufferable!”

The five of them hadn’t always been friends. Most days, it still seemed like they weren’t.

There were times they’d get fed up with each other’s cautious personalities. Fae was always cryptic and defensive, Pyre and Wolf always snarkily bantered and leaped at the opportunity to pick fights, Lock was constantly fed up dealing with everyone, and Hunter was often just quiet, the eye of the storm.

“Your constant bickering has grown intolerable,” Fae said. “If this is all you will offer for this encounter, I shall take my leave.”

Fae was a faerie, and one of the Wild Hunt, no less. He was often the most serious and literal of them, and in all honesty, he was also the only one with tolerable traits. His hair shifted colors according to his emotional state, going from black when he was in a foul mood to a dark blood red, a shining crimson, a bright orange, and transitioning all the way to blonde when he was satisfied or in a good mood. He had the normal sharp features of a faerie creature and elf-like ears. The Hunt had given him a black eye and a silver one, which could become disconcerting if he gave a glare - or just looked at someone too long. It was hard to tell what went on in his head, but he spoke blunt truths like the rest of his kind. How or why he tolerated the rest of them remained a mystery even now.

“He started it,” Pyre snapped.

She was a vampire, turned about a century ago, but she had remained just as young and angsty as any other teenager. She was actually in her twenties physically, but blood and makeup helped make her look below drinking age. She had never liked anyone, but at the same time, she never left the group. Fae guessed that she was lonely, and upon hearing that little thought, she had gone on a rampage, proving that she would rather punch her feelings away than talk about crippling emotional problems. Fae, who was smart, strong, and resourceful enough to be in the Hunt, was easily able to handle himself, but when Pyre finally calmed, she didn’t say a thing, even as Fae added that her reaction proved him right. And yet this didn’t change anything; all of them were lonely. All of them knew it, and that’s why they came when one of them called. Yet hiding emotions tended to end the same way 98% of the time.

In short, Pyre was stubborn to a fault and remained as fierce as she was beautiful and fiesty. She simply couldn’t _stand_ being the damsel in distress, no matter what the situation demanded of her. Sad as it was, this dispute had erupted because Wolf had the _audacity_ to take out a mundane bent on eliminating supernatural creatures. He had poisoned his bloodstream and made a slit down his arm, waiting for any unsuspecting Downworlders to come and take a bite.

With his enhanced sense of smell, one of the few advantages to being a werewolf, he had easily recognized that the idiot’s blood was tainted (Didn’t he know that foreign chemicals in the body would kill him? Perhaps he was so devoted to killing monsters he no longer cared if his life was forfeit; that was typical mundane stupidity at its finest, there) and endeavored to kill the man himself. Pyre hadn’t eaten in several days and was far too hungry to think clearly. As it turned out, the stranger had a silver knife tucked up his sleeve, so if the creature failed to drop dead quick enough or didn’t take the bait, there was another way to finish the job. This, rather predictably, had evolved into an all-out battle, which ended with the foolish man dead and Wolf heaving, a lucky slice to the side matting his calf with blood, while Pyre stood off to the side in self-righteous fury, hands clenched and having barely gotten the opportunity to do a thing.

“So it’s _my_ fault you got in trouble,” Wolf retorted. “Well, I’m sorry for saving your life, Fangs. Next time, I’ll just leave you to feed on the man who tried to kill you with poisonous blood. Weren’t you ever told not to take candy from strangers?”

“I _had_ it _under control_ , Wolf, I don’t need a babysitter!”

“Please. You were so ravenous you could barely see straight,” he barked, running a furious hand through his hair as though trying to calm himself down.

Wolf, as already state, was a werewolf with an attitude problem rivaling Pyre. He was a former human wrestler, so he liked fighting without his claws. He was strong, but he head-butted the problem when it got too enraging. He was a loyal soldier in his pack but was also a very self assured individual who often thought his way was better than everyone else’s. Sometimes he listened, sometimes he didn’t. But, like most wolves, he wasn’t a big fan of vampires, and though she was an exception, Pyre’s constant provokation failed to help. They had yet to kill each other yet, but sometimes the others felt certain it was only a matter of time.

The remainder of the group also thought that maybe their constant clashes had something to do with ‘unresolved sexual tension,’ or something of the sort, but the trio would rather stab themselves than reveal this to Pyre and Wolf. It would be a substantially less painful death.

“I would’ve been fine,” Pyre argued. “I would’ve known something was wrong and torn him apart _without_ you!”

“One bite and you would’ve been very ill for weeks at the very least,” Wolf corrected. “I apologize for looking out for a friend!”

“This friend doesn’t need your pity!”

“She didn’t deny the friend thing, at least,” Hunter muttered to Fae.

Both took in the heated argument with something akin to detached interest; they’d heard this shtick a thousand times before. How _dare_ the group stick together and defend one another, honestly.

“Indeed,” Fae nodded.

Hunter was a shy and introverted Shadowhunter. He didn’t like being expected to do great things, but when he first found the group of Downworlders that still helped him despite his people’s reputation, even if they were bitter about it at first, he showed that he was powerful in his own respect. Hunter was intelligent and could handle himself in a fight, but he proved to be more passionate about music than anything else. Fae voiced his approval, and Hunter felt closer to their mismatched group than he had ever been to his family, even though they could be a bit crazy here. Hunter was quiet when things got heated or when they were talking about Downworlder business he didn’t understand, but he was taking mental notes and learning the entire time. Once, after a particularly silencing argument where no one knew what to say, Hunter started strumming a guitar he brought and sang, pretending no one was listening. No one had said anything, but everyone had smiled in approval - even Pyre and Wolf, though they were trying to hide it. Now, he played whenever an argument was going on, practicing when there was background noise, and no one gave him much attention, to his relief. These were the only people he could be his true self around, and they never judged his playing - like his parents, for example.

“I’m too tired for this,” Lock sighed from his position beside Hunter, sitting while kneading his forehead in order to stave off an oncoming migraine. He pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a small groan. “I was working a job, there was an annoying demon, an even more annoying customer, and now these two.”

Lock was a High Warlock like no other, as his business catered to Downworlders and Shadowhunters alike, despite his high prices. He’d learned from the well-known Magnus Bane - apparently he’d been taught the ways of being a warlock by Bane and wouldn’t have survived without him. Now, Lock was a successful High Warlock, glamoured to hide the fact that his skin was scaled, green shades lightly mixed with his regular tan color in patches. They seemed to shimmer and sparkle at the right angles, and he’d been told that he’d be good at parties. Lock could let his glamour down when he was with his friends, and they said his Warlock Mark was cool - Wolf once said Magnus should be jealous since Lock could sparkle all on his own.

“Perhaps Hunter can play his tunes,” Fae suggested. “Music of his kind can calm the wrath of such pain.”

Hunter looked embarrassed. “W-Well I wouldn’t say I’m…I guess…s-sure I have one song I’ve been working on.”

Hunter didn’t respond well to being directly asked to perform, but Fae had little tolerance for such weakness. The faerie couldn’t comprehend pure mortal embarrassment the way humans could, and his solution was always to push. If someone needed to get over their fears, confronting them was the only way to do so. Hunter, as well as the others, understood Fae only had the best interests at heart, and the Hunt had taught him that confrontation was the most logical choice. Subtly was not his forte.

Hunter played some experimental songs, and Lock made sure not to look over to watch, since Hunter only played well when he felt no one could see him - even if they could still hear. Fae, at least, respected this part of Hunter’s feelings, but who knew when Fae would change that? Hunter couldn’t be coddled forever.

“Stay out of my business, mutt!” Pyre spat.

“A simple ‘Thank you for saving my ass’ would have sufficed!” Wolf snarled, throwing out an arm as though to emphasize his point.

She rolled her murderous eyes. “At least my helpless ass doesn’t have a stick shoved up it!”

On the sidelines, Lock resisted the urge to sigh. “Whose turn is it to break them up?” the warlock asked, shaking his head.

“I believe it is yours,” Fae said. “However, I would be willing to assist if you are too exhausted.”

“Thanks, ‘preciate it.” He snapped his fingers, causing both arguing parties to lose their voices.

Wolf looked exceptionally huffy, while Pyre stomped her black-boot clad feet as though she was ready to straight-up kill someone. She might have, really. She was desperate enough for blood, and though she appeared innocent enough to the average mortal in dark skinny jeans, her signature combat boots, a scarlet blouse and a leather jacket, she was more than capable of casual murder, even if it wasn’t usually her style.

“Pyre, hon, you need to calm down. You’re hungry and not thinking straight. Get a grip and let’s have a civilized conversation. You can hunt later on once you’re not smelling the bloody fumes of the recently deceased,” Lock told her, almost as if he was speaking to a small child.

She flipped him off but pursed her lips, considering his words.

“Wolf, she’s a big bad vampire who can stand on her own two feet. You don’t need to push her to the side. Pyre was handling herself just fine before you came along to fight all her battles. Okay?”

The werewolf dramatically rolled his eyes but shook his head.

“Great. Now I’m gonna let you both talk again, but I swear to the angel if you start up again today I will banish both of you to the very bowels of hell. Understand?”

They silently agreed.

“Nice. I just love it when we're all on the same page.”

With a snort from Hunter, still bent over his instrument and trying to focus on playing instead, Lock released them. Pyre shifted her jaw experimentally, as if the return of her voice had reset the planes of her face. Slowly, new conversations evolved, minus the barbs.

Hunter watched as the four Downworlders got into a conversation about Downworlder lore, almost using their history and politics as a method of indirectly showing off. Each liked to remind the rest of their abilities and skills, and it was quite amusing. Downworlders were certainly more entertaining than Shadowhunters. They were diverse, surviving without relying on runes, and they were, quite honestly, a lot cooler. Yet another reason why he didn’t belong amongst his kind.

Lock’s warlock abilities allowed him to do just sort of everything he wanted, plus he knew potions for anything else. He was bold and eccentric, and had a few centuries of experience under his belt. Pyre could move faster than any human, nearly too fast to keep track of, while still being as quiet as the encroaching night. Her taste for blood made her seem badass, along with her encanto ability and her feminine wiles, which pretty much enabled her to get anything she wanted from boys and girls alike. Wolf had a heightened sense of smell and hearing, natural survival instincts, and not-too-shabby speed, even if Pyre could leave him in the dust. His transformation was awesome, his strength was slightly better than average, and he could summon his claws and teeth even in human form. Fae was a natural hunter, accustomed to survival of the fittest, able to sense lies from anyone (though that wasn’t necessarily a guarantee, he was just used to seeing truths vs lies), survive with little provisions, fight even when outnumbered, and on top of that he knew how to win an argument without letting any personal feelings show (which wasn't really a superpower, and yet being an impartial party was a rare trait in any species it seemed). He was skilled on horseback with a bow and arrow, along with a spear for close quarters, and if he got really mad, he said he could control elements because of his mother. Really, there was no telling what he could do. The full extent of his abilities was still a mystery, even to his closest confidants.

All of them were so unique, while all Shadowhunters had were runes and an oppressive government. Not all Shadowhunters were absolute jerks, of course, but the ones that were had the most power, which was true of almost every reigning system. Absolute power tends to corrupt absolutely, after all. They claimed it was for the best, to keep bad apples from going rogue, but all they did is fan the flames of rage, encourage segregation, and repeat the same societal wrongs - if they even admit to their mistakes in the first place. Case in point: Valentine.

Hunter saw these Downworlders at their best and worse, and wondered why blood is the only thing that deems them evil. In the end, if the Downworlders _do_ rebel, it’s the Clave’s own fault for not looking to actually get to know them and experience their culture firsthand.

“I must return to the Hunt,” Fae announced after a while, blinking his ever-colored eyes. “My absence will begin to draw suspicion should I remain.”

“We’ll see you next time, Fae,” Lock said, stretching. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Never a concern of mine,” the faerie muttered wryly.

It _was_ approaching sundown, and they had been together for several hours even before the big incident of the day, yet he continued to linger, obviously reluctant to return home.

“I should get back to my pack,” Wolf agreed, gesturing to where Fae had been standing. “They’ve got to be expecting me by now.”

“Peace out, losers, I’ve got a party to attend,” Pyre declared, determined to leave before him (probably out of the fear that they would think she was ditching the group because he wasn’t there), turning and speeding down a tunnel.

The werewolf growled lowly at the place where she had been, resolving to wait a little longer so it didn’t look as if she’d gotten to him. She had, as always. The others happily ignored that fact to save face.

They met in an underground system of tunnels, each person coming from a different direction. It gave them many escapes should they have attackers, and made sure they could all go through different routes to not be seen together. They weren’t exactly an illegal group, but it was mostly a matter of pride. This was a whole ‘nother world than their separate ones, and keeping the two worlds for each of the apart was important. They could be themselves here, and if anyone could crash this place of sanctuary, it’d be like a part of their lives was obliterated.

“I should get back to the Institute,” Hunter said.

Lock sighed. “I guess I’ll just spend my evening alone.”

“You should take the opportunity to regain your strength,” Fae advised.

“Regain my strength and also binge-watch Netflix.”

Fae probably had no idea what that was, but he said nothing and kept a straight face.

“Netflix?” Hunter asked, cocking his head.

It was sometimes easy to forget that Hunter had been raised in an Institute all his life. Even though he had some experience with the mundane world, he was still clueless about the vast majority of things. From the small pieces of information he was willing to share, his father was a fairly strict person, pushing him to be a strong Shadowhunter, and subsequently hated his musical talents because they were a distraction.

“Oh, we have much to teach you, young grasshopper,” Wolf joked.

“Grasshopper?” Fae asked, now raising an eyebrow.

“It’s an expression meaning ‘Beginner,’” Lock explained. “It involves ninjas and stuff.”

Fae nodded in understanding before turning and putting his fingers in his mouth. He let out a loud whistle and his steed came flying in through one of the tunnels. His mount was a midnight-black horse, shimmering with silver wisps of magic. His mane was black with dark-red highlights, and as he turned, the silver parts of his hair swept across him as the angle changed. He was both terrifying and mesmerizing at the same time. Fae was graceful as he effortlessly swung his leg over the horse’s back, the muscle-memory drilled into his system from years of experience.

Hunter stared. He’d always wondered what it was like, riding atop such a powerful beast, having complete trust in each other as they rode to battle - or merely went running for the thrill of it. He had learned about parabatai, but a horse, or any animal, really, felt different, he assumed. It was a trust born without magic, without a bond that didn’t allow them to part - it was completely voluntary, strong because it had to be and not because it was locked into place.

Fae caught Hunter staring, and Hunter quickly diverted his attention to packing his guitar. Hopefully he hadn’t looked too stupid.

“Until next we meet,” Fae saluted, before his horse turned and sped away.

Hunter tried not to look too hard at the place where he and his stead had just been standing.

“See you all later,” Lock waved, before opening a portal and disappearing through.

“Bye, kid,” Wolf said simply as he walked down his tunnel, not bothering to draw out the end of their conversation. There was always tomorrow.

Hunter grabbed his guitar case and headed back to the Institute. As always, he hid his guitar under his bed and headed to the training room, brushing the dust from the tunnels off his casual t-shirt and black pants. Like every day he snuck out, he was half surprised he had gotten away with his clandestine meeting, especially with an easy-to-recognize package. Within the hallowed confines of the training room he threw knives today, getting faster but less accurate in turn. Something to be distracted working on, he figured.

“Finn!”

He looked up at his name. Hunter was just the alias he used when meeting with the Downworlders - their names were as well. Pyre was short for vampire, Wolf was short for werewolf, Lock was short for warlock, Fae was short for Faerie, and Hunter was short for Shadowhunter. It was silly, yeah, but if any of them got caught sneaking around then they would have less information about the others to surrender.

His childhood friend and other Shadowhunter Selina came walking in, a warm smile on her face. As per usual, her silvery eyes were drawn with crinkles and framed by her icy blonde ponytail, her milky complexion marred only by the lumpy crescent on her shoulder: the odd birthmark that earned her her name. “Hey, I’ve been looking for you all day.”

“I was out. Did something come up?”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle without you," she assured, brushing imaginary dirt off her sleeve.

He didn't always believe her - Li had a habit of downplaying any injuries so as not to worry them - but today she seemed perfectly fine, which was a welcome relief. They were just as close as actual siblings, and though she insisted that she could survive 'little scratches, Finn, I'm alright', it never stopped him from worrying.

"Where did you go out to?”

Ah. Shoot.

“Some friends were meeting up.”

“Where?”

“The pub,” He deadpanned.

“The pub. Yes, because you’re the wild and excitable drinking type,” she said, eyes narrowing. “Which friends?”

“You wouldn’t know them.”

He’s bad at lying, alright? It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her; he probably should have told Selina a long time ago, but it always felt like his secret, the only thing he could keep to himself in a place where so much of his life experiences had been shared with them. Except, of course, from Mer, but that was when he’d learned his lesson. Let’s just say that telling her had ended in a big and overcomplicated argument before Merida finally gave in and believed that the Downworlders didn’t mean him any harm.

Selina looked ready to ask for more, but thankfully Finn was rescued by his sister. “Li, stop interrogating him. He was out on duty with classified info he’s not allowed to share. He’s already told you too much, so if you don’t want to get him in trouble, back off.”

Selina gave a skeptical look, thin eyebrows arching beneath her blonde bangs, but Finn’s twin sister Merida knew how to win an argument with her stare alone. Besides, Li knew their boundaries and recognized when prying became bothersome on a personal level.

She sighed, placing her pale hands back on her hips. “Sorry. I’m just concerned about you. Your parents are coming this week, and we all know how fun they are.”

Finn groaned in turn, running his fingers through the tips of his orange locks. “Don’t remind me.”

“Just try and stay out of trouble, okay Finn? We don’t need another lecture about the law and responsibility just because we want to go talk to a friend or something stupidly small.”

“Still have scars from all the tongue lashings we got,” he replied, cracking a tiny smile.

They all laughed together as Merida grabbed her brother’s arm. “Selina, can I talk to Finn alone for a moment?”

“Sure, I'll just take a walk. Don't hold up," she said, waving.

She headed out, and once out of range, his sister sighed, her long orange curls falling into her face. “You were meeting with Downworlders again, weren’t you?”

Finn rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but they’re my friends, Mer.”

“Look, I’ve got nothing against Downworlders -”

“Really?”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay, not _yours_ anyways. I’m not going to lock you in the Institute and rat you out to the adults. But I’m worried about what happens if someone else finds out - especially Dad.”

“I know, I know. It’s just…I don’t understand what’s so wrong about being friends with Downworlders. They’re people - different, but not anymore evil than the rest of us. Those treated as monsters become monsters in turn. It’s not like their blood makes them bad, it’s our treatment of them. Shadowhunters still somehow believe that we’re somehow better and more official than Downworlders.”

“I’d love to say that we could get the Clave to see reason through statements like that, but we’re the minority, sympathizers like us.” Her green eyes, identical to his in nearly every way, gleamed in empathy. “The world won’t be so kind if they find out.”

“But change can come. After the Dark War, Clary and the others who saved us have a bigger voice, right? The Shadowhunter Academy is opening again, the Downworlders who fought in the war are becoming known as heroes. One way or another, things _have_ to get better eventually.”

“I won’t argue, but I also won’t say it’s going to be quick," she warned. "All species have their quirks that make the others weary. That kind of acceptance takes time. Even the mundanes have segregation, and though they’ve made progress, they still have those that remain pro-fascism.”

“Can’t win ‘em all, isn’t that how it goes? I'm not asking to win them all, I just want to be able to press this one thing,” he said, voice edging on desperate. “Well, the only way to make change is to go out and do something. Can’t do anything without a little effort, right?”

Merida chuckled wryly, patting his arm fondly. “Keep that attitude, little brother. But don’t get into any trouble, and be more careful. If any of our parents find out, you’ll never hear the end of it and won’t be allowed to leave the Institute for the rest of your life.”

“Don’t remind me. But thanks, Mer.”

“Any time, Finnegan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so how was it? I know I'm very new to AO3 but translating everything has been a process and I wanted to get this up and running on another platform already. 
> 
> Each chapter title is going to come directly from a song. This one was inspired by Animal by Neon Trees, a song I haven't listened to in forever but happen to really enjoy the sound of. It can never replace Billy Joel's masterpieces in my heart, but their stuff is decent. 
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading! CrystalHeartZyx has the story listed under the name 'The Five of Them (But Really Only Two)' on fanfiction.net, so if you liked this you can go over there and pester her for more information. Hopefully both sides will update pretty regularly and we'll develop some sort of following. 
> 
> Be on the lookout for the next chapter!


	2. Our Friends Will All Make Fun Of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fae hates his nosy brother, Wolf hates his nosy leader, and Pyre hates her nosy friends. The conclusion we can draw from this is avoid other people at all costs, unless Cat asks you to teach high school children. Then you can mold them in your image.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly can't remember if I included a disclaimer before. If I didn't, let me just say now that I obviously don't own the Mortal Instruments universe; me and my co-writer only lay claim to the plot and the OCs used. 
> 
> Anyways, this chapter will literally just be other members of the side cast messing with the main characters, because if bothering people about their crushes seemed immature even in the fifth grade it surely must work now. 
> 
> Ha. It was fun to write, anyhow. 
> 
> Also, plot progression is the order of the day, so onwards goes the setup. Here we go!

_Our friends would all make fun of us_

_And we'd just laugh along because we'd know_

_That none of them have felt this way . . ._

* * *

 

Fae wasn’t a troublemaker. He showed no mercy to those who stepped out of line, and he was the hardest on his brother. However, even the most law-abiding of citizens has a grain of hypocrisy embedded in the system. In the end, he himself was misbehaving when he went out to his meetings with the other Downworlders. Especially with the Cold Peace, but also because of his status in the Hunt, meeting with them - Hunter in particular - was asking for trouble. But Fae was careful - he’d grown up being careful, in a world where manipulating truth was a daily occurrence and, more often than not, encouraged.

“Fionn,” Gwyn greeted. “I trust the hunt was successful?”

“Indeed.”

Fae went out of his way to capture and kill many beasts to excuse his absence. On top of the fact that he was royalty - son of the Unseelie King - he had proven to Gwyn his loyalty and dedication, granting him his freedom to split off from the Hunt when he desired. He didn’t do it often enough to draw suspicion, but he also didn’t make the trips rare - whether he was having a meeting with the others or not. Keeping one's sanity in a world where conversation itself was a sport and magic run rampant was key in maintaining a balanced mind, and frankly some alone time was much needed in order to sort through his thoughts.

“I trust my brother is in good health?”

“Yes," he responded, absentmindedly waving a hand. "You are dismissed.”

Fae headed out to search for his little brother, Kieran. Initially, it Kieran had merely been thrown to the Hunt because their father and half-brothers had feared his popularity. Fae hadn’t hesitated on insisting he go as well. ‘ _I will follow my brother to look after him_ ,’ he had declared firmly. Whether or not their father had believed his hints at a denial of personal affections, he hadn’t protested. Fae knew how to come off as a hard and ruthless person, but despite how he showed it, he really did care about his brother. If Kieran understood, he kept his feelings on the matter hidden as well.

The sun had begun to set, shadows dancing across the makeshift campsite the Hunt had made for the night. Fae spotted Kieran’s and made his way over. Along the way, he received greetings from the other men.

“Fionn! You’re looking well.”

“How was the hunt, Flann?”

“Flann! You’re back!”

“Hey, Fionn!”

All the voices tended to blur together after a while, he'd found.

Because of Fae’s constantly color-changing hair, he went from blonde, to red, to even black when he was _extremely_ angered. Fionn meant ‘blonde’ or ‘white-haired’ depending on his good mood, while Flann meant ‘red-haired’ or just ‘red’ for his foul moods. Since he was little, the two names could be used interchangeably. Often he simple went by “Fionn Flann,” along with his titles of ‘Kingson,’ ‘Hunter,’ ‘Princeling,’ and the name he was taunted with my his father and his half-brothers by association: ‘Dearil’ - ‘Call of death’ (or ‘red-haired,’ but that only emphasized why it was his nickname). In essence, they taunted him with the constant reminder of the death he brings and the deaths he’s caused. Fae didn’t know if his brothers knew the full extent of the name related to his past, but his father did. It was all Fae could do to keep his father from gaining ever more leverage against him. Going to the Hunt actually proved useful in that respect, getting hm away from his every leering gaze.

He called out for his kin. “Brother, how -?”

But Kieran was not within his shelter. Fae knew his brother’s handywork by heart, so he hadn’t mistaken the location. Instantly, Fae knew where his brother must be. He went to the Blackthorn boy’s residence and found Kieran aiding the half-faerie, half-Shadowhunter put the cloaks over a cairn of stones.

“You must remember to -”

“Kieran,” Fae interrupted as Kieran explained to the boy - Mark, was it? - how to properly set up the shelter.

“Fionn,” Kieran greeted, sobering up.

Fae had noticed that Kieran’s hair lightened to a shade of blue Fae had never seen before. He was at a level of happiness that Fae knew he could never be responsible for, and it made him surge with jealousy, but also sadness. There would never be a time that Fae could simply be a protective older brother that spoiled Kieran and made him smile. The only way to help Kieran was to be tough on him, to force him to adapt to this strict lifestyle and then give him chances to prove his abilities. Fae had to respect his brother, to make sure others would respect Kieran, not love him. Love came second here. And secretly, Fae wished things could be just a little bit different. Yet at the same time, some wishes were best left alone, lest you become miserable longing for a reality you cannot achieve. The present life he had would have to do, and at the very least, he had a stable plan to survive for now.

“Do not coddle him too much,” Fae ordered. “He must learn like we all do - through our own experience and failures. If he becomes too dependant on help, he will not grow strong enough to hold his own here - he will not be respected. And without respect, he shall only be in worse condition.”

Kieran nodded his head. “I am aware.”

“Good. Now, finish quickly, else you draw the eye of one less lenient.”

A smirk fought its way across Kieran’s face, but he held it down at the last moment. His hair brightened in relaxation, and Fae was conflicted on whether he wanted to allow Kieran to do as he pleased more often, or halt this dangerous path before Kieran walked off the metaphorical cliff.

Fae left Kieran and Mark, knowing and proud of Mark’s weariness of him. He was still unsure of how he felt about the half-breed, but Kieran had been fascinated the moment he’d seen the boy. Fae had assumed it was pity - the brothers knew what it was like to be ostracized and abandoned to the Wild Hunt, but Mark had not a brother by his side. However, Fae quickly learned that Kieran was becoming more attached each day, helping Mark after he was beat for still considering himself a Shadowhunter. That was the moment that Fae began to have respect for Mark and actually considered allowing Kieran to pursue the boy.

Normally, Fae would’ve instantly demanded Kieran forget his foolish fetish, but when Fae saw how Mark refused to give up his title despite the consequences, Fae saw a man who was everything Fae wanted to be - unafraid to declare his true feelings with nothing left to lose. Fae had to protect his brother here in the Hunt, in all of Faerieland, but Mark’s family was away from this life, safe. Mark had only one place to go - up. When Fae saw Kieran happy with Mark, he couldn’t bring himself to oppose the relationship that bloomed. Albeit Mark seemed to not realize Kieran’s affections despite how blatant he was being. Kieran had done everything short of stating his feelings aloud - giving the boy food and water and helping him after he was injured. By the gods, they were even riding together during hunts now. Kieran had taken Mark on many adventures when they had free time, teaching him about nature in a way that Mark never would’ve been able to see as a Shadowhunter. Fae had learned about courtship before, and Kieran was definitely doing so. Then again, Kieran wanted to respect Mark’s feelings. As a prisoner of Faerie, trapped in the Hunt and unable to return to his family after being tricked into believing they were dead through means of Faerie torture, Mark would no doubt hold resentment towards their kind. Mark couldn’t run for fear of the Hunt destroying his family, and it was entirely possible that he only cared about Kieran because Kieran made his life there easier.

“Take caution, brother,” He warned when Kieran finally returned.

“I will,” Kieran promised. “I _am_.”

“I believe that you believe so. But I shall be there to pick up the pieces should your clouded judgement slip up.”

“I understand full well what I shall lose should something occur that demands punishment. I would not subject Mark to my negligence.”

“I should hope not, Kieran. I taught you all you know, and your failure would look to be mine as well.”

Kieran scoffed with a small smirk. “You care for naught but our image, Fionn.”

“Indeed,” He replied with the same face.

Translation: thank you for protecting me so.

“Where did your journey take you today?” Kieran asked.

Fae waved casually. “A mere hunt. Nothing I haven’t done before.”

“So you had much time?”

“No. There were arguments between Pyre and Wolf that took up the majority of the evening. Lock was tired and Hunter played. It was far from a memorable encounter.”

“What of Hunter?” he questioned further, obviously curious.

“What of him?”

“He always has the most interesting tales of melodies, no?”

“Ah, yes, I prompted his tunes and he gave a soft song on his instrument. I can’t fathom why he still fears to begin, but is completely content as he continues. We are nothing to fear, after all, and he is talented. It was a welcome contrast to the constant bickering and Lock’s aching of the head.”

“What other talents of Shadowhunter culture have you learned of?”

“Hunter’s musical aspirations appear to be looked down upon by his people.”

“The Clave is quite malicious to its followers.”

“Indeed.”

* * *

Wolf arrived at the bar and waved over to Maia, who he'd arranged to meet.

“Hey, how’ve you been?” he greeted.

“Doing well, but being pack leader is tiring. Lily and I have been working with Alec nonstop to resolve a lot of issues.” She pulled out his chair. "You're late."

“You’ll live. It was twenty minutes, alright?" he insisted, settling down next to her. "And as for my opinion, Lily’s not as bad as she could be. At least she’s willing to work with you guys.”

Maia grinned mischievously. "And what makes you say that? Has somebody been softening you up, Mr. Progression-Is-The-Order-Of-The-Day?"

With a scowl, the werewolf swatted her away. " _No_ , shut up." He hid the red of his ears behind a glass. "One of these days, I'll kill you. Just keep pushing, Mai."

"You could try," she sighed, glancing at her nails in an unassuming way. "I mean, you'd fail, but you could try." His frown only deepened. "By the way, denial only works against you. You get so fired up about things that it only gives you away. I would seriously bet a thousand steaks that you have a specific girl in mind right now."

He grumbled, his shoulders sinking lower. "Maia, I hate you. Why are we friends?"

She shrugged, her brown hair bobbing over her shoulders. "Because you claim to hate everybody else, too, and I'd like to imagine you hate me a little less. We all mess with each other, squirt. We're just one big, happy, slightly undead and dysfunctional family. You're the sour-faced little brother."

Maia bopped him on the nose as if to emphasize her point. In response, Eric groaned. "Joy. Really. That's great."

"Not as great as your nonexistent girlfriend, I'm sure, but I can't exactly judge." He opened his mouth as if to argue and she cut him off. "I didn't say I _don't_ judge, I just implied I probably shouldn't. But it's kind of fun to mess with you. And, since messing with you is the order of the day, where have you been?”

“Meeting with friends," he answered without answering, downing another sip.

“The same friends you refuse to speak of every time you’re asked?”

“Yup.”

“Honestly, what could be so secretive? It’s not like meeting with a Shadowhunter isn’t already something me and Lily aren’t doing with Alec.” She smirked, taking another swig of her glass. "Unless, of course, secret girlfriend is with them."

He cheerfully ignored that part. “It’s not really forbidden, but it was once looked down upon. We’ve had few bonds long before the wars, Valentine, and all that. Call it a tradition, and if anyone else disturbs it, it’ll be like our shared secret was given away, our safe haven wasn’t safe anymore. Even if I wanted to speak, it’s not my place to say anything without the others’ consent.”

“Hey, hey, I get it. We all need to get away sometimes, and if someone found my safe-spot, I’d be bummed too." She sighed, rubbing her temple. "I'd go insane if I couldn't get away, now and then, or just have an outlet for having the occasional bout of fun, like going out for drinks with you. Don't get me wrong, I…I don't know. I just didn’t expect that kind of sentiment from you.”

“Yes, I get sick of this. I mean, I'm intense, but it has to get to everyone, right?" He glanced at the tabletop. "No one expects us Downworlders to have hearts, so, in turn, we hide our hearts to fulfil our roles. But all of us, Downworlder, Nephilim, whatever, want to believe that there’s such thing as respect in every culture.”

Maia silently noted that they'd breached the philosophical part of the night. “Eric…” she began carefully. “Is it because of a faerie? Are there faeries or Seelies, whatever, in this little group? That’s why you especially want to keep them protected?”

Eric put his drink to his lips, taking another long drag. “Even faeries have honor, respect, and they never break their promises - or at least, it’s extremely bad if they do. Because they can’t lie, they have to be brutally honest, sure, but if you had no choice but to speak the truth, how would _you_ get by in this cruel world? To them, it’s survival of the fittest, and even princes can be brought to their knees if they show weakness. Now, the Cold Peace has only made things worse. A lot of Seelies fought for the wrong side, made mistakes, but not all of them. The Clave is being forced to open up to the rest of us, but they still need a bear to poke. And god knows what they'd do if they were denied the ability to prod something else with a stick.”

Maia sighed. “Can’t argue with that, as sad as it is. I suppose I don’t have the right to say anything about Seelies, but their rough lifestyle _does_ make them tough and skilled surviving in harsh conditions. They aren’t dependant on peace, and whenever the world inevitably comes crashing down, they aren’t left helpless. I want us all to coexist too, but for now, our efforts will have to be good enough.”

 _Good enough_. It never seemed satisfying, did it?

Eric set his empty glass down, tracing a finger around the rim. “For now. Another shot, please.”

“Got it. And my lips are sealed.”

“Thanks."

"But about the girl . . ." she began, her eyes crinkling with renewed mirth. Eric groaned in response and tried his absolute damndest not to even _think_ about Pyre.

* * *

 

Pyre chugged her glass of blood. Damn, she needed this. She needed this like she had needed air, once upon a time.

“I mean, how does _he_ have the gall to say he was _saving_ me?” she seethed, resisting the urge to bare her teeth as the color flooded back into her face.

At this comment, many of the fellow creatures of the night around her groaned; there was Sam and Dean, brown-haired brothers who had been captured and turned years ago, Brandy, a bubbly ball of metaphorical sunshine with strawberry blonde locks and a penchant for giggling, and Josh, with a constant skeptic streak. Jody was the very textbook perception of a modern vampire; she loved My Chemical Romance, wore a lot of black clothing, was strong and stubborn much like Pyre, and wore her ebony locks in a pixie cut, framing her sharp eyes. There was Tristan who had tousled red hair, freckles, and somewhat of a not-so-secret crush on Brandy, though this never stopped him from keeping a level and unbiased head or teasing her, and Trent, Tristan's best friend who constantly dyed his curls green, made sarcastic comments, and tried to cut it as close to daylight as possible. After three hundred years of undead life, it was obvious that rebelling against the basic preconception of what vampires should be kept him sane, and while he wasn't necessarily risky or irresponsible, Trent clearly missed his days of mortality and longed for them constantly.

All of them put together made up Alex's regular blood-sucking squad. All of them put together tended to gang up on her, too. Like, for instance, now.

“Come on, Alex,” Lily drawled, fingering strands of her blue hair. Even clan leaders needed to take breaks and relax with their comrades, something the hardworking vampire was indulging in right now.  “You know you like him.”

The downside of hanging out with Lily?

She liked to live surreptitiously through Alex's love life.

Alex scoffed, as she often did, hot blood slipping down her throat. “I do _not_. That stubborn wolf can go -”

“Stop denying it, Lex,” Sam complained, resisting the urge to bang his head into the counter. “You never shut up about him, and you can’t even tell us his name.”

Dean nodded. "Seriously. I mean, I kept some secrets on my love life from this one while I was alive. Like, I wasn't about to share how long -"

"No, no, that's quite enough," Sam cut in, wincing. "That can remain a secret forever."

"See?" Dean shook his head. "Lex, if you like him, cool. But we're not going to judge you too harshly. You can, I don't know, give us some basic information. Like, for instance, his name, so we can start calling him something other than 'Mystery Guy'."

She rolled her eyes. “He just goes by ‘Wolf,’ but it’s an obvious alias." Another bead of red disappeared from the rim of her glass. "Happy now?"

Sam sighed. "We're just looking out for you. I mean, we know you don't need protection, but isn't that what a clan is supposed to do? Look out for its own?"

"I'm not in any _danger_ with them, guys," she grumbled, staring at her clenched fists. "They would never hurt me."

"I think he means emotional danger," Tristan piped up from down the table, slipping his lense-less glasses back up his nose.

As far as vampires went, he was far from intimidating, especially with his beat-up converses, casual button ups, and spectacles. But wearing them, even the completely useless glasses, made him feel more human again, like the regular college student he was supposed to be before he was turned. The clan turned a blind eye out of sympathy; they all had their different methods of dealing with this.

"You're attached. You deny it at every single opportunity. You clearly have a thing for him, even if I doubt it's ever gonna go anywhere, based on what I know about you. You're much more of the suffer-in-silence type."

"I don't have a thing for Wolf, okay? He's just…I don't know. But I'm not secretly pining like some starry-eyed waif." She forced her shoulders to relax. "It's nothing."

Lily raised a skeptical eyebrow and silently slurped out of her own cup. Jody snorted loudly.

“Yeah, but if you keep meeting him, that’s gotta be a sign, right?” Sam pushed, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She shoved him away with a scowl as if that alone would deflect his point. “ _No_ , I just go to see my other friends and he’s there by extension.”

In truth, though Alex griped about them incessantly, she liked the secret group they had. Being surrounded by other blood-suckers got boring after a while, and she felt pride at knowing a werewolf, a warlock, a seelie of the Wild Hunt, and a Shadowhunter as her secret allies. Not many could brag about having each of them on speed-dial. They were her family, and she maybe, kinda, sorta, loved them.

Not that she would ever admit it. And no way was anyone going to find out about her clique from her. Alexandra was stubborn as all get out and almost foolishly loyal, despite her frigid exterior, and death no longer scared her. If anybody wanted her friends, they would have to kill her first.

“And who are these friends?” Jody prodded, leaning her head on her elbow. "You're never very specific. I think we could stand to have some actual backstory for once."

“A warlock I met at a bar and all his buddies. Sadly, the dumb wolf is one of them,” Alex relayed, the lines practiced for whenever someone asked.

“Well, I ship it,” Brandy declared, smiling mischievously.

“You would,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.

The blonde waved him off with her usual optimism. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But come on, Alexandra. It’s the classic love story! Two people of different worlds find themselves drawn together by fate! They can’t stand each other, but during an argument they suddenly find themselves close enough to kiss, realize their feelings, and then after drama happens, they hardcore make out!” Her hands clasped together and she practically swooned, as if imagining it even now.

“You’ve watched way too many soap operas,” Josh complained. "And I thought the romantic comedies phase was bad. Guys, can you even remember how many times we rewatched the Notebook? Damn, I still have nightmares."

“No, I remember it all vividly. I think she was more into the romance novels,” Tristan agreed, though his tone was incredibly fond. "There was a lot of squealing that spring in the hive."

Jody sighed, fearing that she would have to initiate responsibilityTM as always. "Calm down, An," Jody said, grabbing her wrists and lowering her arms. She moved away Brandy's cup, placing it in the center of the table. "I think someone's a little too hydrated right now."

“Yeah, you’ve probably had enough to drink, Brandy,” Trent concluded, snatching her glass of blood and handing it off to Alex. "Lex, would you mind? You could use it."

"With pleasure." The remainder was gone in seconds.

Their conversation continued as the subject mercifully changed. A very loopy Brandy attempted to grab for Trent's cup, which Jody had to forcibly wrestle her away from as the vampire continued to giggle and hiccup to a nearly comic degree. Alex, now void of the center of attention, chugged yet another drink in peace. She wouldn’t have some cheesy romance with Wolf - she couldn’t stand him. He was all the things that got her fired up; his stupid habit of protecting her, his idiotic comebacks, his sandy blonde hair, which was always _freaking_ decent, his smug blue eyes, his unfairly developed physique, and his cocky attitude as though Alex should be _thanking_ him for allowing her to be in his presence.

Ugh. Stupid Wolf.

…There was no way the others were right.

Nope. _Never._

With a moan of frustration, she sunk down to the counter, watching her clanmates and frowning in self-irritation.

…She needed another drink. Maybe five.

* * *

 

Lock was bored.

He flicked his hand as shows shuffled across his screen. He didn’t know what he wanted to watch on Netflix since nothing interested him, so he went to regular TV to see what was already programmed. Boring, rerun, lame, ew soap opera, Spanish (he was too tired to cast a translation spell), 24 hour ads? Really? Football. He gave a mental shrug. Might as well. Lock knew he shouldn’t be using more magic after his long day, but he was also lazy. Besides, he was recovering quick enough. He popped some popcorn the old fashioned way, at least, and tried to waste time focusing on the game on the screen.

When the fire message appeared in front of him, he was more relieved than he should’ve been.

‘ _Zytaveon, I hope I’m not disrupting something important. I’ve been asked to come teach at the reopened Shadowhunter Academy, and the staff has become quite lackluster - meaning many have quit and they need all the help they can get. If it’s not too much to ask, perhaps you can accompany me there as a teacher so that I don’t die of boredom and don’t kill someone before the semester ends. Reply within the week, because school starts Monday._

 _-Caterina._ ’

Lock smiled and wrote up a message saying he’d love to help - anything to get away from the horror that was San Francisco customers. Then again, he’d still have to deal with them later (why pass the chance to get money by overcharging people, after all?) but it would be a change of scenery and he’d be in charge of Shadowhunters/aspiring Shadowhunters, able to boss them around.

Procrastination was key, after all, so long as you could justify it.

The next day, he woke to Cat’s response on the floor by his bed.

‘ _Great. See you then, Ve_.’

The next week, Zytaveon arrived at the run-down school. He searched and finally caught Cat in the halls.

“Veon, I am _so_ glad you’re here!” She exclaimed.

“Well, I get that a lot.”

She shoved him. “Oh, stop being Magnus, you dolt.”

“We’re turning Magnus into an adjective now?”

“He’s been an adjective for many things for a while now. Come on, the rooms for teachers are this way.”

Veon followed her, looking around at the run-down school. Veon didn’t understand why the Clave didn’t seem to care about educating their precious Shadowhunters, especially now that they were short on members, but at least they’d _opened_ the school and allowed warlocks to be teachers. They encouraged their hunters to come, yet didn't bother to actually help with the set up. Veon still waved the halls clean as he passed. They could at least fix up the buildings before they opened, honestly.

Veon’s room was across from Cat’s - who, he noted, had magicked her room clean too - and he snapped his things to settle in for him.

“So, what talked you into agreeing to be a teacher?” he asked Cat.

She shrugged. “Don’t really know. I guess I couldn’t allow these delinquents go uneducated about us Downworlders. Rag…" she trailed off, glancing at the floor before taking in a deep breath and steeling her thoughts. "Ragnor hated it here, and was grumpy almost everyday, but he wanted to change things, and he wanted to do good. A lot of these kids may be hopeless, but…might as well give it a shot, right?”

Veon nodded. “So, you’re Rag 2.0?”

She chuckled, almost bitterly. “I could never presume to replace him. He was a good person, and completely unique. But yeah, I’ll do my best.”

“Good, because I sure ain’t gonna be a professor with a bug up my arse anytime soon. I’m the fun teacher.”

“I’m regretting inviting you already,” she joked, a smile pulling at the sides of her lips. “Just don’t blow anything up.”

“No promises.”

He grinned as Cat broke into laughter and they pondered their stay at the Academy. Veon hoped he wouldn’t be too busy to still meet his friends. Perhaps he could convince them to give lectures - except Fae, of course, and maybe Hunter, since that would require learning who he really was. Then again, bringing any of them might risk someone identify them. Well, worth a shot.

Veon loved his friends - even with Pyre and Wolf’s bickering. They almost went out of their way to argue, but Fae and Hunter had agreed that they were just looking for excuses to talk to each other without losing their pride. Veon was just happy he’d found a place that he could be himself. When you were immortal, you could have friends forever - literally - but spending too much time with someone made the high wear off. New people were fun to hang around, and he’d probably be stuck with Pyre and Fae for longer than Wolf or Hunter, but they were still young - Hunter especially, the kid had to still be in his late teens. Maybe Hunter’s kids would have their warlock, vampire, and faerie guardians. Sure, James Herondale had a half-warlock mother and a Silent Brother, but Veon felt he made up for that.

Zytaveon was saved and raised by Magnus Bane. As such, Veon wasn’t afraid to dress a little eccentrically - not as bad as Magnus, mind you, but what he believed was Magnus done right. He naturally had sparkling scales, so that was one thing, but today he had a purple dress shirt along with a mauve, glitter-bombed vest, dress pants with just a little less sparkle, and shoes to finish it off. He might as well try to look like a professor.

“Like a professor on Halloween,” Cat muttered.

“Are you suggesting I don’t look serious?”

She merely hummed and smirked as she headed out.

Veon headed to his class and saw that a couple responsible children had already arrived. He bubbled with excitement as the class filtered in. Ah, new faces to show off his glamour and knowledge to. And they couldn’t walk away once they got tired of him, either.

As was his style, he began his session by completely tossing out course information and the syllabus instructions, getting down to the first topic on his personal agenda.

“Okay, class. I want you to tell me everything you think you know about Downworlders.”

“What? No introduction?” a girl shouted, glasses sitting atop her far-too-pointy nose, which had scrunched up in confusion.

Veon privately thought that it looked like it belonged on a cartoon witch than a teenage girl, but he supposed she couldn't be blamed for her own unfortunate genetics.

“I asked you a question. I believe that counts as an introduction. Personal experience has shown me questions are great ice breakers. People like to talk about themselves - I would know. But if you insist, I’m Mr. Bane.”

“As in _Magnus_ Bane?!” a boy called, eyes wide and awestruck. Veon shrugged with a small, private smile.

“He was my mentor. My name is Zytaveon and I gained the title of Bane through him; I never really had a family of my own, and since he was the closest thing I could get to a father, I took on his. Think of it like you humans when you Ascend, getting a new name. After Magus saved me, I chose my name. But enough about that. Tell me about Downworlders. Tell me everything you know and believe.”

“There are four kinds - vampires, werewolves, warlocks, and Seelies.”

“The Seelies were bad in the last war and now we can’t help or contact them thanks to the Cold Peace," the same boy remarked, voice proud and unwavering. He clearly expected to be praised for his quick delivery.

Veon sneered instead. Such entitled millennials, having the luxury of thinking the world was black and white. “Yes, ostracization is the only way to go, obviously. Seelies are 'bad', but that’s just how they survive. Anything else? Describe the basics, if you must. What properties do the other races possess?”

“Vampires have fangs!” someone else called helpfully. As if that weren't obvious.

“They drink blood!”

“And hypnotize people!”

“They have sedative and aphrodisiac in their fangs to enchant those they bite and keep them addicted until they’ve been drained like a blood bank. They also have encanto abilities to hypnotize people into getting what they want. It is vampires that the drug Yin Fen comes from.” A teenager in the back row had spoken this, as if surprised the words had escaped his mouth at all.

Veon grinned and snapped, pointing at the boy. “I like you! What’s your name?”

He was still in shock, like a deer in the headlights, so Veon looked around at the other kids, who were all cowering as though he was going to change his mind and blow them all up any second now.

He rolled his eyes. Mortals. “For goodness’ sake! I don’t do magic every time I snap, people! Now what’s your name, kid?”

“S-Simon,” he stuttered. “Simon Lewis.”

“Oh, you’re _that_ kid! Nice to meet you. I heard you’re a nerd. I like you already."

Simon relaxed slightly, no longer afraid that he was going to be vaporized for speaking out of turn.

"Now, let’s move on to werewolves. What do we know about them, kids?”

“They’re half wolf, half human!”

“They’re feral creatures, hunting like animals while hiding among humans.”

Veon sighed. “They have packs, they’re loyal to their Alpha, and respect the one that challenges and kills the Alpha to take their place. It’s a pretty stable system. Plus, let’s be honest, all of us are hiding among humans.” Another child, tall and proud, scoffed from the aisle seat.

“Shadowhunters are just better at it.” He glared out at the rest of the classroom with defiance. "Well, am I wrong? We're better at everything."

Veon snapped his fingers again, red swarming his vision. Within seconds, the student was completely frozen, unable to move or talk. The look in his eyes was that of a captured animal at the mercy of a larger predator, as if for the first time he was experiencing true and utter helplessness.

“Anyone else?” he asked, low and warning.

There was silence, full and overwhelming.

“Good. Let's move on and keep personal bias to ourselves, now," Veon stated, clearing his throat. "As it's clear some of you need to learn, there are differences between skill and dependence. Shadowhunters have become far too dependant upon their runes, their rules, their Clave. Nephilim have angel blood, but they also have mundane blood. While this makes you powerful, there is no way to keep every person in line for every generation. The Clave couldn’t even comprehend the idea of someone disobeying the law, and thus Valentine was born and couldn’t be stopped before things got out of hand. It takes time and experience to learn what is right and what is wrong, and the law will not always be right, but when in doubt, just remember that genocide is probably not the right thing to do. The point is to never believe you understand morality. Just because you have angelic blood doesn't give you the right to play god. I’ve got a few centuries of experience, and I can tell you now that even with all that time, I know that I’ve still got more to learn. You will be doing the same for the rest of your lives, and if there is one thing you should take note of now, it is that humility renders all of us." He paused, allowing this to sink in. "Now, moving on, if, one day, you are stranded without a stele, what do you do?”

“Take inventory of what you _do_ have,” a girl suggested, sitting up straighter. “Look for weapons on you that could be useful, find water, food, shelter, etc.”

“Yes, yes, that's a good start if you were in a regular scenario, but in open combat? You won't have much time to gather yourself and reassess the situation. You cannot be reliant on magic." He laid his hands flat on the desk. "You all must learn to fight without Endurance runes, maneuver without Agility runes, go to battle without Courage runes. Because that’s what we Downworlders do every day. We survive by the skin of our teeth because we have no choice. We learn to be flexible without a crutch like runes, we learn to hide among humans without invisibility spells, and we band together because we don’t have a fancy Clave. We are freelancers, but not monsters. If you treat someone badly, do you think there will be no repercussions? Do you believe they will not be angry? And do you think, at any moment, that you are better than someone who is different? Because if you do, then _you_ are the monster. You are no better than Valentine, because that is _exactly_ what he was. There is such thing as a rogue, of course, but one person’s actions - or a group of people’s actions - does _not_ define everyone. Because that’s the thing about all of us. Downworlder or Nephilim, we are all part human. Well, I suppose the Seelies could be debated, but regardless!”

He got a laugh out of most of them, albeit slightly nervously, and felt proud. This was the next generation, and if anything was going to change, it had to start with forcing people to see things a different way. Empathy is universal, as is bigotry. If they could start to understand, even at a fundamental level, that there was more to being a Shadowhunter than slicing demons, it was good enough for Veon.

“You all have to learn not to take everything you’re told to heart - don’t be ruled by hate or resentment, but the desire to protect. You are not warriors, you are guardians. Remember, there’s a difference.”

* * *

 

“I loved the speech.”

“What are you talking about?”

“In your class," his companion smiled warmly. "You’re a natural.”

Veon turned to Cat from his summoned meal (he was _not_ eating the demonic excrement they called food at this Academy). “You were spying on me?”

“You weren’t exactly keeping it a secret, so can it really be called spying?” She stole a bite of his sandwich. "Anyways, I was just passing through. You did well with them."

"Fair enough," he shrugged, taking the opportunity to grab his lunch back. She continued chewing without complaint. "But you could’ve at least informed me of your presence.”

She gave a returning shrug. “You were on a role.”

“How’d your classes go?”

“Same as ever - arrogant Shadowhunters, bright-eyed mundanes.”

“Ah, the wonderful life of the Academy," Veon smirked, raising a glass of punch. With a snap of his fingers, another cup was nestled in her slender hands. "To resisting the urge to maim our kids?"

“I’ll toast to that,” Cat conceded.

They clinked their glasses together. In all honesty, he felt this was gonna be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the title of this one comes from the song Hey There Delilah, for obvious reasons. 
> 
> This was dramatic. It will become more lightharded eventually. Before, you know, abruptly going off the rails. 
> 
> We're evil. What else can we say? 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this enough to stay tuned for what's coming next. Have a good one!


	3. You Remind Me Of A Few Of My Famous Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn goes to his personal hell, a tricked-out public high school. Apparently even knife-wielding demon slayers need a biased educational system to tell them what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the next installment of this story, now fresh and ready to go. Originally it was posted without edits for some reason of fanfiction.net, and since I was on vacation I didn't have time to check it out and fix it. Now here we are, and it's been combed through. I got a little lazy towards the end, I'll admit, but on the whole it's been mostly revised. For those who chose to take a chance on this random OC-riddled nonsense, here we go!

_ You remind me of a few of my famous friends;  _

_ Well, that all depends,  _

_ On what you qualify as friends . . . _

* * *

 

Finn sighed and strummed his guitar. He had a stupid Disney song stuck in his head all day, and his restless brain had forced him to start coming up with chords to play. Then again, his sister and Selina would argue that Disney songs were nothing to be ashamed of, and in all honesty, the lyrics were actually really inspiring. It was from Pocahontas, all about nature and its importance, and Finn couldn’t help but be reminded of Fae. He knew that the faeries weren’t nature hippies like they could easily be mistaken for thanks to the modern interpretations, but they were still connected to nature in a way that city-dwelling mundanes couldn’t ever understand - or even the city-dwelling Downworlders and Shadowhunters. The faeries were scary because they had nature on their side, and nature was an infinitely complex and ancient creation that no one could ever fully understand. To have even a slight bit of control over it meant wisdom and power that could sometimes make them cocky.

But Fae wasn’t cocky, Finn had recognized. He was modest and cautious to a fault, but not overly proud of himself, as if he too was still trying to figure out who he was and wanted to be.

Fae was definitely not like the others of his kind, and Finn found himself wanting to take the opportunity to get to know him and what it was like to be a faerie in the Wild Hunt. It was a rough lifestyle, but it made Fae tough and more prepared than any of them for whatever came his way. Besides, if Fae was able to find time to sneak away to join them, it meant that he had the slight bit of freedom needed to relax and satisfy him - time to balance out the bad with some good.

“Finn!”

Merida and Selina charged into his room. Selina quickly shut the door, bracing herself against it with an anxious frown while Merida rushed over to him and grabbed his guitar case. “Hide it!” she demanded, already packing the thing away.

Finn gave a confused look, resisting the urge to complain about how roughly it was being thrown back in. It wasn't as if he could just go out and buy a new one without anyone noticing, after all. 

“Your parents are here!” Selina snapped, more worried than angry, her eyes flashing with urgency. She knew, better than nearly anybody, just how important this was to him. 

Finn jumped into action, helping to slam the case shut and then stuffing it beneath his bed. Quickly he pushed a few bins of miscellaneous items, containing everything from old tools to childhood toys to laundry, in front of the case, then covering everything with another old sheet. This insured that even the most curious of eyes would have a hard time spotting his instrument, let alone trying to unveil it before they got caught. Bless his sister for coming up with the idea, and the two girls for supporting him and his musical talents. Selina’s parents were just as strict as Finn and Merida’s, but they were more often the negligent parents that kinda just threw things at Selina and told her to do good. They weren’t celebratory when she did well, but they were strict when she performed poorly - and she’d done both before. Selina had grown up more with the twin’s family than her own, and she understood how Finn's parents didn’t approve of his music, his father in particular.

They managed to finish hiding the instrument and all of Finn’s sheet music, videos, and any other traces of his hobby while Merida pulled up the ‘ _ Avengers _ ’ movie and skipped it to a random part in the middle. She and Selina dived for the bed to get into position as though they’d been watching the entire time when there was a knock on the door. Without waiting for their response, the door opened to reveal Finn’s parents.

“Ah, good, you’re here,” his dad said, voice flat and mildly disinterested. 

“Hi, Daddy,” Merida greeted cheerfully.

She knew how to charm their parents better than Finn did, and the key to that was acting like she wasn’t the badass sister that could kill you seven ways till Sunday armed with nothing but a stuffed bear (don’t ask how Finn knows that specifically). Women always had it easier, honestly.

“Hello, sweetheart," he replied in a way that was as close to warm as their family got, and it was only really reserved for her. 

“We don't have time for idle hellos. Let’s get moving,” their step-mom called from the hallway impatiently. "We're going to be late." 

“Are we going somewhere?” Finn asked.

“We have business at the Shadowhunter Academy,” their dad informed them, not even bothering to look up while addressing them. 

This was to be expected. They were hardly his children; they were weapons made to fight for the Clave, to press against the system. Possessions, almost, although ones with a certain degree of received affection. 

“Are we going to the Academy?” Merida asked eagerly. She was every inch the ideal Shadowhunter; she was eager to learn, eager to fight and to broaden her horizons, and she appeased their parents more-or-less effortlessly. Sure, they were equally hard on her, but she hadn't done anything they explicitly disapproved of yet. 

Finn, on the other hand, he was the  _ problem. _

“That’s yet to be decided, but you will get to go for this week and see if it’s right for you. The Clave is encouraging us, as senior hunters, to take you children.”

“Awesome!” 

“Me too?” Selina asked, pulling her hair out of her face and straightening.

“Yes,” their step-mom said once more, tapping her foot. “Now if we want to make it there on time, we need to get going now.”

The three of them didn’t argue. Merida and Selina were ecstatic, but Finn couldn’t muster up the excitement they felt. Finn had grown up in the Institute all his life, and as a result it was familiar. It was home, and he didn’t want to leave it to go attend classes at some unfamiliar school. The girls were all for meeting new people and curing their cabin fever (even though they went out on missions often enough, honestly), but Finn didn’t like being out of his comfort zone.

Besides, Finn may not be able to attend the secret meetings as often, if at all, at the academy, and his friends were the only reason he remained sane. To make matters worse, he’d be trapped away from home, surrounded by snobby Shadowhunter teens from all the famous Shadowhunter families who would love to talk about how they’re better than the Scion family. Sure, they weren’t the Herondales, the Lightwoods, the Carstairs, or literally any other family with a famous title, but Scion was a cool surname, right? If nothing else, it was  _ his _ , one of the few things he could truly call his own. While he was away, that meant less time with his guitar, less time watching stupid movies with his sister, less time trying to figure out what he wanted out of life. He would be utterly out of his area, separated from everything that made him  _ him _ , and a nobody in a world of famous surnames. 

However, he didn't voice these thoughts, not when everyone else was so excited. Instead, he continued to watch the girls buzz around, jumping at the prospect to finally meet people outside of the Institute that were acquainted with the Shadow World. Both could hardly comprehend the concept of talking to someone they wouldn't have to hide from, Selina especially. They had gone on missions that had them interact with mundanes here and there, and it wasn’t like they were unfamiliar with meeting the occasional Downworlder, but they didn’t interact with other Shadowhunters, oddly enough. As far as Shadowhunters went, they were rather secluded in all areas of life. Finn, Merida, and Selina’s families were the only ones in the Institute - especially after the Dark War.

When they eventually arrived at the school, Finn’s feeling of dread only worsened. The place was visibly rundown, with its shudders nearly falling from the hinges and its paint peeling away from the ancient walls. It seemed that the Clave didn’t think hygiene was very important, if they would send their next generation to a veritable poster building for a CDC campaign. He was afraid to say that it could be worse, because it’d most likely turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy.

"Is it all that you hoped it would be?" he whispered to his sister, silently thinking a stream of ' _ I knew it I knew it I knew it _ '. She shushed him quickly. 

As they walked through the halls, it was immediately evident which professors cared about their new assignation and which were doing it out of obligation. It was a matter of degrees; some areas were brightly lit and scrubbed clean, so reflective and perfect that magic must have been used. Others were merely swept and hastily wiped down, as though the instructor had arrived late and done their work in a hurry; perhaps they simply didn't have powers. Either way, this was preferable to the corridors of people who simply couldn't be bothered, as their portions of the school were riddled in cobwebs and a thick layer of grime.

Despite the frankly terrifying exterior, it appeared that Finn had lucked out and received an instructor who genuinely had investment in their job. The guy teaching the class he was taking today seemed nice, with a relatively carefree smile and a somewhat sparkly outfit, which Finn assumed was an attempt at looking casual without compromising personal taste. He continued to look over the man, scrutinizing him carefully. Upon closer inspection, Finn noticed some familiar scales on his exposed forearms, scales he didn't think he'd ever come across in his day-to-day life, much less at the academy.

“Lock?” he whispered in disbelief.

It couldn't be, could it? Not when he'd been so careful to keep his friends and his everyday work seperate for so long. There was no way they could bleed into each other on their own like this. 

More than anything, Finn wanted to talk to Lock, the person he had known just as well as Selina for ages. He knew the way the warlock prefered his coffee, his sarcastic sense of humor, his favorite shows, and the type of music he listened to; those were things one could not fake. And now, here he was, in the flesh, and Finn was practically dying in his seat, thinking about all the things he would like to say to the person he had both come to know inside and out and yet was meeting for the first time, but class had begun and the warlock had already started.

“Okay, class. I want you to tell me everything you think you know about Downworlders.”

Finn tapped his foot impatiently, zoning out while thinking about what to do. Should he play dumb and act like any other student? Should he approach Lock about this later? Did this matter, and would it strain their friendship?

He heard ‘Bane’ escape his comrade's mouth and momentarily snapped to attention. That’s right, he was an apprentice or something of Magnus. It explained his flashy style and eccentric personality. If someone told Finn that Lock of all people would be a teacher at the Shadowhunter Academy, Finn wouldn’t have believed it. He constantly complained about the rigors of dealing with other people and was hardly patient when something managed to mildly inconvenience him. However, in a strange way, it almost made sense. Lock was actually very serious when it came to his core beliefs on how the world should work and the academy provided to perfect opportunity to do just that, to remold young minds. Lock had lived through enough centuries to have firm ideals on human nature and on how it could be remedied. Actually, his values were much akin to Finn's, especially when it came to what shadowhunters should be - they weren’t just warriors, they were guardians of the innocent.

As Lock (or Mr. Bane, since Finn couldn’t even try to process what his first name was) gave his lecture, Finn found himself listening closely to the underlying words beneath his message. Just as he often made evident, Lock wanted the segregation to stop, and he was clearly willing to do something about it, even if that something for the moment was trying to get through to a bunch of thick-skulled Shadowhunter children.

“And what if one of you doesn’t even want to be a Shadowhunter?” Lock asked. “Do you all believe you are forced to be what you are?”

“But…our parents are relying on us to hold their legacy,” a girl said shyly. “And we’re supposed to protect people, right?”

“And you can. You should be able to choose to be a Shadowhunter because you want it and believe in the cause, and not because you are told to. Do you think most mundane doctors choose to save lives because they were forced by their guardians to take years of medical classes in a university and sign on at hospitals? They enter the profession because they want to help people, because they wanted to make the world a brighter place. If you become a guardian, become one because it’s the right thing to do. All other reasons fall apart; self-motivation is the only real driving force that continues to sustain itself." He paused, looking around the room wearily. "But I knew a lad, a while back, who just wanted to sing, not fight. He said so to his family, and you know what they did? They destroyed his instruments, they had a warlock take his voice away, and they made him into a Shadowhunter, whether he liked it or not. I knew this boy because he asked me to help him. He asked me to kill him.”

A ripple of nervousness swept through the room, until one person was brave enough to ask, “So what happened?”

“I saved him,” Lock said simply, but he didn’t elaborate.

Finn realized, much like the rest of the room, that this answer was vague because he  _ couldn't  _ elaborate. If Lock admitted to killing a Shadowhunter, he’d probably be condemned in some way no matter how long ago it happened, and if he told of how he helped the boy escape, he’d be expected to track the descendants of the boy for more Shadowhunters - and that would be hell for whoever had initially begged him for help. Either way, Lock couldn’t and wouldn’t say more.

“But that boy, and so many others over the course of history, have had to hide who they are, and are punished if they are found out. You all must work to change this. Diversity is not a crime. You are the next generation of Shadowhunters. You are the only ones who can make things better. You all know the story of Alexander Lightwood, a Shadowhunter who was shamed because of his sexuality and then the fact that he was dating Magnus - a warlock. He is an example of the bravery that you Shadowhunters must be capable of. But only one person every twenty generations isn’t enough. All of you have to be brave enough to change the law when it is wrong.”

“But without the law, things would be in chaos,” a boy protested.

Lock crossed his arms in challenge, as though he’d been waiting for someone to argue. “There was once a law in the mortal world that stated women weren’t allowed to have any rights. They were treated as little more than property. There are even jerks these days that  _ still _ believe that a woman is worthless and only there to give a man children. There was even a time that you kiddies and your parents’ parents’ parents’ don’t remember where women were only first allowed to fight because Shadowhunter numbers had gotten so low during a war that they were forced to give in to needing help. Today, some of the strongest Shadowhunters are women, and taking a woman’s rights would be considered absurd and sexist in the modern world. Time changes things, especially the law. You’ve all heard your little Latin law “Dura lex, sed lex” - ‘The law is hard, but it is the law.’ Actually, it translates to ‘Hard law, it’s law,’ which actually feels appropriate as well.”

He got awarded a round of chuckles.

“Personally, I've been a fan of the Blackthorn saying, “Lex malla, lex nulla” - ‘A bad law is no law.’ Or, ‘Bad law, no law.’ There is no rule you can lay down that will be true for all situations. Morals are a case by case judgement, and the saying is true. Laws are meant to keep peace. Violence used to make peace is not a proper law." He sighed. "That isn't to say that all the rules should be broken. Just laws are passed for the primary motivator of general safety and comfort. However, a bad law is not a law you should feel obligated to follow, and it's important to start learning now how to tell them apart. Sadly, there is no one definition for an unfair rule. Most like to try and simplify it into a way to maximize lives saved and reduce casualties. However, I will say this; fighting and resisting shouldn’t be the only way to solve conflict. Blood doesn’t get paid with anything but more blood.”

“What if a majority believes in what’s right being a sacrifice?” someone asked.

“Depends on the sacrifice. The thing that is taking - receiving - the sacrifice as well as the people must be understood. If the gain for the trade is selfish luxury when the alternative is hard work, it is most likely the wrong thing. If the alternative is extermination or at least poverty, more needs to be considered. Outside help, alternatives, there is always another way. If there isn’t, perhaps their fruitless battle of survival is pointless and should end. It is all up to the situations, every nuance matters. Tomorrow we shall get some scenarios and you will all give your opinions.”

“Will it be graded?” a girl asked.

“Your reasoning will be, but not your actual position on the matter. Morality is a fickle thing, after all, and it shifts from person to person. If you and someone else disagree, be prepared to make an argument. If I must, I will play the part of the opposing side if all of you agree - even if I don’t fully believe my position. For now, you are dismissed.”

Finn gathered his notes and tried to catch Lock as he left, but he was afraid shouting ‘Lock!’ would sound racist to outside ears, and it just didn’t feel right calling his friend ‘Mr. Bane.’ Did he even recognize Hunter? The teenager knew that he used a glamour rune to make his red hair brown for the sake of security during the meetings, which also had the added effect of turning his eyes blue and hiding his freckles. He didn’t really think about it too often, as the glamour part of an instinctive routine he performed he came and went. Would Lock, as a warlock, be able to see past it? Frankly, Finn had assumed that the magician respected his privacy and remained ignorant. Finn hadn’t gone through the Institute Archives, looking for his friends’ faces, and Fae, the lie detector, knew it. All of them respected each other’s private lives, but would meeting IRL be for the best? Would it be for the best, finally shredding the curtain between their regular existences and their clandestine affairs? 

Finn slowed as Lock left the room, allowing him to leave without protest. For now, it would probably be better to just leave their worlds separate. Still, Finn wondered if Lock had recognized him, bringing up the story of the destroyed musician Shadowhunter to get others to sympathize with him. Adversely, maybe Lock had just honored Finn even when he thought he wasn’t there. Finn smiled at the prospect that he cared, despite all the people and places he'd lived through, and that amongst everything his friend had seen Hunter the Shadowhunter had become important. 

By the end of the day Finn had sat patiently through another three lectures, as had his comrades. Technically they weren't obligated to go to any more classes, but Merida and Selina were happily volunteering to attend additional electives in their rush to explore the academy, and soon they soldiered on, leaving him to his own devices. Already it seemed as though Meri and Li were making this their home, a mindset that he could never truly embrace. Instead of following them or requesting company, he let them go. Even if he was out of his element, it didn't mean that the girls couldn't enjoy their stay. 

This was just like his father, actually. Stranding them all in a new place without so much as a day's notice, expecting them to move in, to take courses, to sleep in unfamiliar dorms with unfamiliar faces lurking nearby. It was something of a personal hell, actually, but the one bright spot in this mess was that there was no threat of a looming parental figure swooping in to uncover his secrets. 

With little deliberation, Finn settled down in the room meant to be his and began unpacking his things, which they had unceremoniously had dumped into their respective dorms upon arrival. Soon, between the concerns about Lock, his growing irritation, and his thoughts about Meri and Selina, wherever they were, he gave up, thrusting everything else aside and pulling open the zipper on his guitar case. Bless the girls for helping him bring it by distracting their parents for the minute he needed to hide it in the car.

When their group had established itself, Lock had been hard at work to create crystals that would teleport them to their tunnels, providing a safe and easy way to reach the others should anything happen. This was just another reason why it was convenient to have a warlock in their group; if anyone followed him, the path to the actual meeting place was met with too many twists and turns for someone to follow while also staying out of sight, and Lock had surrounded the entire place with wards to identify intruders. Pushing aside that analysis, Finn walked through the portal, picking up the crystal as the gateway closed behind him. Here, he was Hunter. Here, he was completely and utterly himself. 

Hunter sat down against the wall of his tunnel and ran a hand through his locks, sighing. There was a Disney song stuck in his head, and it would probably refuse to leave until he removed it from his system, as per usual. With a renewed excuse to perform, he began to strum the chords he’d learned solely by ear - since his guitar obviously couldn't play all of the instruments needed to play the song and having sheet music in the house was the equivalent of a death sentence, he just made up an acoustic version with the net sound of certain parts.

Maybe one of the others would show, maybe they wouldn’t. Either way, he had alone time to play and no risk of being overheard by someone he didn’t trust or regularly interact with in his normal life. He got lost in the song within the first verse, letting the familiar hum of the strings distract his buzzing mind, the lull so entrancing that he didn’t notice the visitor that had been listening the entire time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyways, that was chapter three. I know, I know, most of this has been expositional nonsense meant to develop the plot and not necessarily the fun character interactions. Next chapter will be more shipping, essentially, because we are weak when it comes to relationships. Blame this fandom. 
> 
> Also, the song is I Have Friends In Holy Spaces by Panic! At the Disco because I have an unhealthy obsession with them and Pretty Odd is a wonderful album. Listen to it right now. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking around, I hope this was interesting and that you enjoyed it so far. We appreciate it!


	4. Fly Me To The Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our characters discuss their baggage yet again and see 'A Whole New World' (TM). It is discovered that Lock is a killjoy and bottling up your feelings is a much better alternative to being happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next installment, submitted after two weeks because it's so long it's a miracle it got edited through at all.   
> I think I lengthened it by like three or four pages by accident, too, which probably added to the process. But anyways, time to develop a ship, both with hardcore emotional bonding and then fluff. Because why not?   
> Because this is so horrendously lengthy, I'll stop talking now. The end notes are practically another page of writing on their own.   
> Enjoy!

_ Fly me to the moon, _

_ Let me play amongst the stars;  _

_ Let me see what spring is like  _

_ On a' Jupiter and Mars . . .  _

* * *

 

Fae was unhappy.

He couldn’t quite say why, as by all accounts it was a fairly decent day. He saw his brother eyeing Mark Blackthorn with a gaze of affection he knew he could never receive from Kieran, his own blood. Why did it make him jealous? He knew, and furthermore he understood, that he couldn’t ever be a proper brother who loved his sibling with everything he had; Fae was his teacher before his comrade, his protector before his friend, and if that meant he had to constantly be on edge, be colder and harder than necessary, then so be it. He knew that his obligation was to his brother's life before his happiness and he had accepted that fate, even if it came at the steep cost of a regular relationship. 

Yet still, he felt uneasy as he watched the two of them go to battle together. It was just the three of them on this hunt, and so they openly smiled at each other, joked around, spoke their minds, and acted more affectionate than friends or even allies should. If it weren’t Fionn with the two of them, their behavior could be mistaken as brotherly love, but Fionn knew them far too well for that. Their bond was strong in different ways. 

“Miach,” Fionn ordered, using the boy’s faerie nickname. “Stop with your incessant dawdling. Skin the boar while I create the fire.”

Kieran and Mark got to work, as they often did when he snapped, while Fionn made a circle of stones, followed shortly by a pile of wood, and used a flint to light it. Mark had been in the Hunt longer than the princes, but Fionn had been trained long before they had come there, teaching Kieran, and, in turn, Kieran had taken the opportunity to teach and help Mark. Fionn was older than Kieran and had learned more than he normally would in order to get by in the world. Kieran had been born because their father wanted a true man from their mother, despite  _ everything _ Fionn did to prove himself.

Fionn snapped the two stones of the flint in half, just thinking about it.

He was slipping. This never happened. He could control himself. 

“Are you okay, brother?” Kieran called, brows wrinkled in obvious concern. 

“I am unharmed,” he responded. “Continue with your task. Do not be distracted by such details, lest you show favoritism or distrust in my ability - or others’ - to handle themselves. Have I not taught you to think before you act?”

“Yes, Flann,” he said, using Fae’s serious name to show he understood.

Mark gave a look, but was quickly stopped from speaking as Flann returned a glare. He was not in the mood, not now. Instead of giving a further explanation, the faerie pulled out an extra flint and lit the fire, blowing on it to help it build into a strong flame.

Fire. A thing Flann was familiar with. Yes, he was the son of a water faerie, yet the opposite of Kieran and his ocean-blue locks. He had questioned their mother of his origins before, but she had simply declared that he was her child in every way. Perhaps that was simply another reason why his father rejected him.

Becoming impatient with the dark thoughts on his mind, he pointed his finger at the fire and it flared up into a full-blown flame. Kieran hadn’t shown the prowess over water that Flann had found he had over fire, and so he kept the abilities he had hidden so that people wouldn’t come to expect Kieran’s skill when he didn’t have it. He also refrained from using the power he gained in Kieran’s presence so that Kieran himself didn’t expect his abilities to emerge one day - and prevent him from being bitter when and if they didn’t.

Fionn was not hateful of his brother; he was resentful of his  _ father _ for everything he’d done. Were he not so concerned for Kieran, Fionn would be the first to usurp the throne merely to kill the man. He would then leave the title of Unseelie King to one of his trusted half-brothers, hoping that they would do a better job of ruling than those before them. But that was a fantasy to ponder another day. The day that the king fell would most likely be far off.

The three of them ate their meal in relative silence, Mark and Kieran sitting closer than they truly needed, soft, sneaky smiles exchanging as they waited. Fionn felt the same resentment flowing through him again.

He did  _ not _ hate his brother. He did  _ not _ hate Mark, even. But what he felt was definitely negative, seeing them with their secret affair - jealousy. Fionn wanted to protect his brother’s affections, yes, but he would sacrifice their relationship if it meant Kieran’s wellbeing. He had no desire for Mark or Mark’s approval of him. What, then, was it that provoked this feeling within him? A desire for the relationship they had, perhaps. He could have no weakness, and show no love. Kieran and Mark, even in secret, could love each other.

Fionn could love no one. He couldn’t let his guard down, ever.

It was then, as he pondered his feelings on the matter, that he felt a disturbance in Lock’s wards, but not one of warning. Hunter was at the meeting place, though there didn’t seem to be an emergency. He closed his eyes and sensed Hunter was playing his melodies. He found a desire with himself to join him, to get away from everything. Mark and Kieran seemed to want time alone together - even if neither would admit it - and without Gwyn to report to, since they were already on a separate Hunt, this would be a perfect opportunity to visit.

Fionn stood immediately. “I wish to go for a ride. Do not wait up for me.”

Kieran slowly acquired a suspiciously dangerous grin. “Go, brother. We will be fine.”

“Please, do not enjoy yourselves  _ too _ much during my absence.”

“We can handle ourselves,” Mark insisted, though he didn’t seem as eager for Fionn’s departure as Kieran.

Was that boy honestly unaware of Kieran’s feelings? It was clear that he had his own affections for Kieran, but perhaps he was simply denying that they meant anything beyond friendship. Fionn was a faerie that had never been in love before and had never  _ wanted _ to be in love, and yet he was aware of what was going on with the two of them. Perhaps alone time would do them better than he expected.

It occured to Fionn that Mark hadn’t been informed of Fionn’s secret excursions, so did that suggest Kieran’s attitude came from Fionn meeting his friends and not his brother’s relationship? It seemed that Kieran had mysterious thoughts about Fionn’s relationships rather than his own at the moment. But alone time with Mark was probably a bonus as well.

“What do you smile for, Kieran?” he finally asked.

“I am happy for your desire to do as you please,” he admitted, avoiding the topic of Fionn’s trips specifically because it had been decided that Mark wouldn’t be allowed to learn of it. Fionn couldn’t share without the others’ consent, and they had all agreed that no one would be told. Kieran simply figured it out on his own and Fionn was incapable of denying it. “You never think of yourself. You must learn that I can handle myself and that your needs are important as well. Go. A small tangent of freedom will do you good, after all you’ve done.”

Fionn turned and walked off, accepting the not-answer. “Do not think I shall cease my protection, my brother. This development will not change my treating of you.”

Kieran gave a warmer smile. “I expected no less.”

Fionn allowed himself to bask in the fondness he so rarely indulged in before whistling and summoning his faerie steed. Zoltan was a mighty horse, one of the strongest and hardest to tame in the land. It was the taming of Zoltan that gained him a great deal of respect in Faerieland, and so everyone who saw the steed knew to take him seriously immediately. He hopped aboard his mount and rode off.

It wasn’t a long trip on his steed, and he allowed Zoltan to leave as he walked down the tunnel to the meeting ground. He heard the light strumming of a guitar and Hunter’s soft voice as he sang.

Fae could easily compare Hunter’s singing to the beautiful tunes in Faerieland. He was unaware a non-faerie was capable of such grace - at least before he met Hunter. It was still baffling to him how Hunter refused to acknowledge his ability. Even now, Fae heard a song that had him listening intently to the lyrics and entranced by the flowing rhythm.

“ _You think you own whatever land you land on_ ,  
“ _The earth is just a dead thing you can claim_.  
“ _But I know every rock and tree and creature_ ,  
“ _Has a life, has a spirit, has a name_.

“ _You think the only people who are people_ ,  
“ _Are the people who look and think like you_.  
“ _But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger_ ,  
“ _You’ll learn things you never knew you never knew_.

“ _Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the new corn moon?_ _  
_ “ _Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grinned?_ _  
_ “ _Can you sing with all the voices of the mountain?_ _  
_ “ __Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?

“ _Can you paint with all the colors_ _  
_ “ _Of_ ,  
“ _The_ ,  
“ __Wind? ”

Fae wanted to go and confront Hunter - it was disrespectful to listen without his permission, after all - but the faerie found himself enchanted with the lyrics, the tune, and Hunter’s voice. He put his soul into the song, not just reciting a bout of words or playing a given piece of music, but  _ becoming _ the melody. Hunter put care into his music, and that’s what made him so good.

“ _Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest_ ,  
“ _Come taste the sun-sweet berries of the earth_ ,  
“ _Come roll in all the riches all around you_ ,  
“ _And for once, never wonder what their worth_.

“ _The rainstorm and the river are my brothers_ ,  
“ _The heron and the otter are my friends_ ,  
“ _And we are all connected to each other_ ,  
“ _In a circle, in a hoop that never ends_.

“ _How high does the sycamore grow?_ _  
_ “ _If you cut it down, then you’ll never know_.

“ _And you’ll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon_ ,  
“ _For whether we are white or copper-skinned_ ,  
“ _We need to sing with all the voices of the mountain_ ,  
“ _Need to paint with all the colors of the wind_.

“ _You can own the earth and still_ ,  
“ _All you’ll own is earth until_ ,  
“ _You can paint_ _  
_ “ _With all the colors_ _  
_ “ _Of_ ,  
“ _The_ ,  
“ __Wind~ ”

Hunter played some note s as an outro, a relaxed closing tune that he seemed lost in until the music had completely died from the echoed tunnels. It was only when Hunter sighed and moved his instrument off his lap did he notice Fae sitting far too close for comfort.

Hunter shrieked in a pitch Fae hadn’t known the male Shadowhunter species could produce and fell to the side, dropping his guitar with a booming thud that echoed out because of the body of the instrument being built to project sound combined with the tunnels’ concrete closed space.

“F-Fae?!” Hunter stuttered. “How long have you . . .?”

“I have been sitting in this position ever since the line about rainstorms and rivers, however, I have heard all since the one claiming my beliefs about owning land.”

Hunter thought back, sitting up straighter. “You…You’ve been here  _ that _ long? I-I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”

“You have no reason to apologize. You have a beautiful voice and I hoped not to disturb your melody.”

Hunter looked stunned. Or was it embarrassment? Fae wasn’t good with reading such emotions, as they were often expressed in different ways outside of Faerieland. Usually, embarrassment equated to humiliation - which was a punishment that more often than not led to physical pain, be it through whippings or beatings.

“My apologies. I did not mean to overstep my bounds. I know little of your musical standards. In Faerie, I know I have heard many musical creatures, but perhaps you have far higher expectations.”

“What? N-No, that’s not it. I have little doubt the people of Faerieland are much more skilled than I am, and especially my kind.”

“Yet you seem to believe that you have no skill at all. I have heard some of the best musicians in the Unseelie King’s court and you rival them all.”

“R-Really?”

“You think I can lie of such things? Of  _ any _ thing?”

“No! No, I’m sorry. It’s sometimes hard to remember you’re a faerie.”

Fae moved his hand to his ear, then his hair and his face. “I do believe I have very obvious traits to distinguish myself.”

Hunter laughed. “Yes, that’s true. But when you speak to us, you seem…casual. I guess all of us normal-speakers are rubbing off on you. I suppose  _ we’re _ the ones speaking weird to you. But you kinda rub off on me too sometimes. I now know fancy-speech. And your faerie traits are cool. You get to ride free in the Hunt. I keep my family’s honor, my own honor, and all I get in return is a life of oppression and hiding. There’s no fun, no freedom, and as my responsibilities grow, I will have no hope of escaping to here again. I dread when that day comes. The Hunt sounds hard, don’t get me wrong, but you get to ride horses, feel the rush of a real hunt, learn to survive because of your own strength, not reliant on runes. I understand that there have to be a lot of hardships, but you’re used to them, and even if I wouldn’t be able to handle a lot of that stuff, to you, it doesn’t feel like it would be something you can’t tolerate. All that stuff about Gwyn taking you in and helping you when you start, and having honor that you earn, that’s not decided just because you’re born one way or another…I sometimes wish I could’ve grown up like you, never known what being a Shadowhunter was like.”

“Well, birth does matter sometimes. If you’re born a prince, born a woman, born like Mark Blackthorn - a half-faerie - things can be much different. A prince is mocked for their entitled life being handed down to them when they didn’t earn their title the hard way. A woman cannot even be a part of the Hunt, and they must work harder to earn respect if they wish to compete with men. They are feared and respected, yes, but their cunning and magic is not equal to physical prowess, so if a woman wants to wield a sword, ride with the Hunt, she is looked down upon. And Mark Blackthorn, he is a special case in the Hunt. No one will ever respect him fully because he refuses to deny he’s a Shadowhunter. But I see that he is  _ strong _ because he does not give in. He is feared among the Hunt because he can lie, but it isn’t as though half-faeries aren’t born on a regular basis. It is the Shadowhunter aspect that they don’t like - they see him as nothing more than an enforcer of the Cold Peace. He doesn’t wish to fit in, but he doesn’t run because he knows the consequences. He is an enigma, but he is making the best of a hard situation. He may be a Shadowhunter, but he is a faerie all the same.”

“If only I could trade places with him. If Helen and Mark were pure Shadowhunters and I was the half-faerie, things would be so much better.”

“Or things could be worse. It is best not to waste time pondering a world of ‘What ifs’ while you have a world in front of you to deal with. Focus your energy instead on what changes you  _ can _ make to improve things. I have heard the tales of Alexander Lightwood, a Shadowhunter who works to change the law every day. Lock brags about knowing Magnus, and by extension, the Lightwood boy, and I have heard the good he is doing, working with vampires and werewolves, and any warlock who is willing. I believe you have reached a time of change, thanks to the war. It seems only tragedy can provoke action.”

Hunter frowned. “I wish the faeries could be included in that change too. At the very least, we can just stay away from each other, but to refuse to protect them under the Accords, prevent them from having warriors or weapons without authorization…the Shadowhunters could accuse you guys of using a paperclip as a weapon and be justified in attacking. Some of your people made mistakes during the war, but the faeries can lay down their own laws and punishment - they don’t need the Clave to make everything worse. The Clave was the one to make the mistakes that led to Valentine's and subsequently Sebastian’s rise, so in the end, they should be the ones bearing the punishment, but  _ no _ . It has to be all of the faeries, whether they’re guilty or not of trying to survive the monsters that the Nephilim let loose. Besides, the faeries have been around much longer than the Nephilim. We act as though our angel blood makes us better, but we’re not. As far as I’m aware, the Shadowhunters just kinda showed up and claimed they were better than those with demon blood. We’re part angel, but we’re also mundane. We’re arrogant and snobby, stubborn to a fault, and we’re filled with hatred and pain. How, in any way, are we better than anyone and anything?”

“You speak as though you are among the Shadowhunters you so loathe. But you are not. I know that for sure, and your other friends do as well. You must look on the bright side, Hunter, even though that seems to be a foreign concept to you. Forgive my saying, however…”

Fae took a deep breath and closed his eyes, focusing as though he was getting into character for a play. Then, his eyes snapped open to reveal a completely different personality.

“If you have time to mope, you have time to act!” he recited, as though he had been practicing. “Get your head in the game! Stop sitting around complaining and actually  _ do _ something, you lazy bum!”

Hunter blinked. “What just happened?”

The faerie grinned lopsidedly, as if he'd just performed a part in a play. “Our comrades have been giving me information on the verbal technicalities of your world. Wolf advised me to get my point across in a way that you would perhaps understand. I found the lines quite bold and out of line, however he was confident that they would have an effect. In essence, you complain far too much and make little visible effort to change what you believe is wrong. So, as Pyre further advised me to say, 'Get off your arse, idiot.'" He took a moment to smile, as if proud of his progress. It shouldn't have been so damn  _ cute _ . "However, Lock prevented them from speaking their words to you directly previously because he knew they would only come off as aggressive and you would only hide more. They came to an agreement that I was the ideal person to speak to you because I am the most docile of us and would sympathize with you. I do believe that logic is flawed, but I did not contest the point. It is evident that you needed assistance.”

Hunter looked down, away from the pleased Fae, and sat back in thought. “And what do  _ you _ have to say about me?”

He absolutely hated how curious and longing those words sounded. Obvious, much? 

“You cannot fret and simply wish. You must act. I agree with that much, at the very least. You are strong and wise, Hunter, and you must learn to step up and  _ use _ your abilities to change what is wrong.” 

Hunter sighed and glanced upwards, trying to imagine the billions and billions of stars up there. Was each one in the velvety black a world? A person? Were they better off? “If only it were that easy.” He ran a palm over his forehead. "I want to. I really do. But I need to make something of myself if I'm going to have a voice, and I don't know if I could do that. Where do you even begin, trying to shift everything you've ever known?" 

Fae stared steadily ahead, not seeing anything, pondering this thought. The oncoming silence fell over the duo, veiling everything but their steady breathing and the hum of inquisitive minds. Finally, the faerie stood, extending an open hand. “Start by learning more about us.”

“What?” he breathed, jolted out of the quiet, eyes wide with shock and unadulterated surprise. 

“You want to make a real difference. You are passionate about it. You are allowed to start small. Let me show you what it means to be a faerie of the Hunt." He rose a taunting brow. "Or do you not trust me?”

“Of course I trust you,” Hunter instantly snapped, red starting to color his cheeks.

His companion drew closer, a rare smirk, wide and daring and purely  _ him _ , was plastered across his face, so different from his usual expression of lukewarm calculation. “Then allow me a chance to show you my world for one night.”

Damn, that felt just like a line from a rom-com to Finn. It was almost a line straight out of one of his more dubious fantasies, for sure. He had no right to sound so  _ good _ at this. 

Hunter looked to Fae’s hand, and with barely any hesitation, reached out his own to meet it. “Where are we going?”

“Just on a ride.”

He whistled and Zoltan came storming in with a boom of lightning, the crackling effect only amplified by the tunnels. Sparks flew away in flashes of gold and silver, a light so bright it was living. Hunter flinched, but didn’t take his eyes off he brilliant steed. He didn't think he could if he tried. Fae smiled at the reaction, so unusual for any mortal. Hunter wasn’t afraid, as most outsiders tended to be; he was amazed, mystified, and this was only further confirmed all the longing glances he’d caught Hunter trying to hide. Zoltan was something he wanted to understand, a magical entity he observed and appreciated. It was almost incredible, how different Hunter could be when he wasn’t afraid, when he truly embraced the mystique of their world. 

“J-Just let me put my guitar…”

Hunter tore his eyes away with great effort and packed his guitar into the case. He set it neatly against the wall leading down his tunnel and then hurried to Fae’s side.

“S-So…”

Fae sensed his eagerness and hopped aboard his horse, flinging a leg over its flank with a fluidity borne of practice and familiarity, and patted Zoltan's side. “Come.”

Hunter stared at Fae’s hand incredulously, as though still afraid Fae wasn’t serious. He gripped the mount's back, intending to awkwardly shuffle his way on, when the faerie simply grabbed his arm and pulled him over as if he were weightless. Hunter had clearly never ridden before, surprised by the sudden jerk up onto the stead and shifting in his seat with his hands on Fae’s shoulders.

“So…how to you…?" he trailed off, realizing something rather obvious. "There’s no bridle.”

“Hands around my waist,” Fae ordered instead of answering.

This was said in a very matter-of-fact manner, though it was underriden with a cautious excitement. It was so rare that someone new would ride with the Hunt in the first place, but he had clearly never trusted another being with Zoltan like this. Not until now. 

Hunter flinched, the tremble evident in his lapse in grip, and Fae turned with a frown of confusion. The Shadowhunter appeared flustered. “Uh, can’t I just hold on like this?”

Oh.  _ Oh.  _

Fae smiled mischievously, though not without some secretive pleasure. “Not with my horse.”

Hunter reluctantly wrapped his arms around Fae’s waist and laid his face against the back of his shoulder, strong and yet shaking with anticipation and anxiousness. Fae, stranger to emotion though he was, couldn't help but let the sensation of being close to another person wash over him. It never happened, really, not for his kind. It was warm, like an ember come to life, and it ignited not in flames but in feelings, all bright and exciting, pooling in the pit of his stomach. Was this what others experienced all the time, this rush of emotion? This head rush of giddiness, cotton on the brain? It was  _ wonderful _ , but ever so distracting; no wonder the fae were considered so clever, the mundanes so emotional. They were living through this constant distraction and it clearly softened all of their thoughts, making them unable to think clearly. He wanted to exist there, to capture this brief moment and bottle its effect, but instead he brushed it aside to the back of his mind. He was busy, and his horse required instructions. 

“Hold on tight,” He warned, trying to ignore the lingering and impossible effects of this mortal boy, before urging Zoltan to run.

Zoltan was a magic horse - obviously - and as his master, Fae had the ability to simply communicate his feelings to his steed mentally. It wasn’t telepathy, per se - Zoltan wasn’t chatting it up in his head - but they could communicate without a word shared, and Fae could tell what his horse wanted and vice versa with just intuition. Overall, they got along pretty well, as was essential to their survival amongst the fae. Anything less than perfect precision could spell disaster for them. 

Hunter let out a shout of surprise as the horse surged forward, his grip tightening as he pulled himself closer to Fae, flush against his back. However, he wasn't too concerned about Hunter's proximity; he was high off the feeling of freedom, the release of the wind and the hoofbeats echoing through the air. Fae let out a laugh as they surged out of the tunnels and into the open greenery. The cold breeze howled, nipping at their skin in a joyous frenzy, as the inky sky blotted out the regular world around them, pressing shadows into corners and allowing the moon to illuminate the creases of the earth, the dew on the grass, and the planes of their faces.  This was intoxicating, from the smell of the outdoors to the sweep of the land, and Fae was in the Hunt once more, chasing down wisps of mystery, enjoying himself in the exhilaration of riding. 

Hunter opened his eyes wider, as if just realizing what being  _ alive _ could taste like, and he began swiveling his head to look around as they rode. They were far from civilization, though not entirely cut off from society, and Fae had a feeling that Hunter had seldom been outside the city before. Fae privately applauded, feeling so  _ full _ he could burst, before giving Zoltan the order he’d been waiting for. The horse, with a mighty whinny, began to pick up speed.

"What are you doing?" his guest asked, the noise more laughter and awe than a question.

"You'll see, and you'll love it," he replied with absolute certainty.

There was no possible way that this boy, the one who sung about colors in the wind and chased down danger with silver knives and who yelled at the unyielding world wouldn't love this as much as he did. Not when he craved adventure, strived to be  _ more _ , and had weaseled his way into their group so effectively.

Finally, the horse leaped, lightning crackling from its hooves, and hit not the ground but the air above it, kicking at nothing but the wind. Hunter cried out in surprise, whooping with excitement and absolute wonder as Zoltan started riding over what seemed to be an invisible path through the sky, ascending with every step as they began to fly. He tightened his grip once more but gazed over the sides of Zoltan's flank.

"This is amazing!" he gasped, briefly letting go to skim the clouds, silver moondust blurring past his outstretched fingers. Had he ever looked so happy, so animated before?

"What, humans don't ride the breezes?" Fae replied, voice shaking with pure happiness.

"Hell no! Airplanes have squat on  _ this! _ "

The faerie had no idea what that was, but didn't let it concern him. He rode on, leaning farther forwards, and let a rare laugh escape his throat. 

He let out another loud shout of triumph and Fae got the feeling that this was his first time ever feeling so free. Hunter was bubbling with laughter, urging them to go faster - which Zoltan and Fae had no arguments with. Zoltan could run at highway speeds when he was being held back, and could blow the sound barrier without breaking a sweat. The horse was a being of wind and storm, and these sprints were what he  _ lived _ for. 

Hunter’s voice was lost to the elements, hoarse from yelling and singing and bellowing at the shining stars. He wanted to grasp every one, to hold each pointed light in his hands. He wanted to live up amongst the stratosphere. Once again, Fae was reminded of the song Hunter had been singing previously.  _ Can you paint with all the colors of the wind? _ Now, Hunter could. Fae realized that the wind was even better than he’d remembered. There were winds of trouble, signalling death approaching or happening far off - black, murky, yet helpful for warning of the danger ahead to be better prepared. There were winds of the ocean, vast and holding seemingly infinite dangers, yet mystifying with creatures of all kinds - blue, calm yet storming with potential. Like Kieran, perhaps. There were winds of fire, destruction, atrophy and suffering - reds and oranges, warm and leaving ashes to be reborn from. Like himself, maybe. And there were winds of nature, life, peace, chaos, survival - purples and greens, both comforting yet ruthless.

Fae imagined Mark Blackthorn as yellow and dark green - surviving by the skin of his teeth, but full of hope that refused to die. Lock was certainly a mauve, or possibly a neon green - burdened from a long life, but hiding the darkness, burying it, with a distracting light, bright and flashy. Wolf was a navy blue - strong, wise, but unsure of his path in life and still desperately searching for it. He was in the underbelly of the night, but assured. Pyre was a blood red or an orange spark - she was constantly burdened by fears and was lashing out, burning with intensity, to try to find meaning in her life, even if it didn’t sate her needs for long. She desired purpose, and was willing to do what she must to get it. 

And Hunter? He was, at first glance, a generic black and white - a Shadowhunter. He tried to hide in a world he was born and trapped in to survive, but unlike Fae, he had little hope of even just a moment of freedom. If anything, his freedom only grew further by the day, while Fae had a somewhat stable lifestyle. But seeing him play his music, cry out in joy as they rode free for the first time, become friends with the people that others of his kind wouldn’t even consider humans - when Fae witnessed Hunter at his truest, he saw a rainbow of personality, potential for so much more than a ‘cookie-cutter’ of a Shadowhunter, as Lock once put it.

As the night wore on, the shades of evening deepening and transforming, coming to the cusp of dawn, they approached the tunnels once more, and Zoltan started trotting at a slower speed. Hunter almost seemed to be out of breath, leaning his head on Fae’s shoulder again, his arms still wrapped limply around the faerie’s waist. Fae couldn’t help but smile again. Odd. He hadn’t ever smiled so much in such a short period of time. His face almost hurt. But Hunter was someone he would smile for any day.

Fae realized with a start that his emotions had changed again. His stomach felt tense, as though he should be on alert for something, but it was definitely not danger he was feeling. It was a type of content, so nice that he began to fear it - specifically the moment it inevitably left him once more. It was much like the bright warmth of before, only stronger, concentrated and drawn out like a string.

But where was this new warmth coming from? Could it be from the ride he went on? But he’d done things much more exhilarating in the past. The only difference this time was Hunter. Fae had previous passengers upon Zoltan - few and far between, as the horse was feared and quite picky, but the point still remained. There was no denying that Hunter was the source of these feelings. The question, now, was why?

Well, not so much  _ why _ . He wasn't stupid; he knew how these things happened. But Fae was not one to fall. He admired strength of will and of mind, and he looked to logic. In his society, there was little else to turn to, after all.

But wasn't this boy, whatever his true name was, an embodiment of those principles? He fought so hard inside his mind, aching to start something new, to be better than those before him. He constantly rebelled against the hypocrisy of the system just by existing. He refused to give in to the stereotypes of his kind, despite the compulsive whims of his family figures. And yet, he was still soft spoken, still caring and compassionate. He loved things he wasn't supposed to love, was enamoured with people and ways he wasn't meant to ever meet or experience. The more-ness of him constantly leaked through, and it was entrancing.

He realized with a start that if he were to enter a relationship, he would want those ideals. He would desire a partner who was clever and unrelenting, who fought for their beliefs, who examined situations from all angles. But he also wanted excitement, that feeling of freedom and happiness that could previously only be garnered from sprinting through the air. He wanted undeniable kindness, to be taken care of by someone else for once, or to at least have the option of allowing his careful composure to slip. He longed for an equal, but also an opposite, someone different and contrasting to himself, and someone who could be leaned on and could lean on him in turn. He desired that impossibly incredible tugging in his gut, the spur of clouds in his brain, and the utter certainty that he would never be let down.

What Fae desired more than nearly anything else was trust, was an unshakable assertion that someone loved him with the same ferocity they lived their life with, and not just the right-and-wrong ideals of his race. What he dreamed of, when he was perfectly honest, was someone he could go through this immortal life with as a constant partner, with no lies between them. The fae had enough half-truths already.

Hunter stirred some of that, met so many of those unspoken requirements. He would be far too easy to fall in love with, if Fae made that damnable choice. 

But no. Fae needed to keep such feelings under control. He didn’t need anything else to come and affect his ability to protect Kieran as well as his own pride, and nothing could be more vital than the insurance of his brother's safety and personal happiness. It was bad enough that Kieran was becoming distracted and Fae had to pick up the slack, but if he himself became distracted, everything could fall apart all at once. The Wild Hunt and Faerieland itself was not a place to take lightly. One mistake and the already-shaky ground the two brothers stood on would crumble. Without Kieran, the Blackthorn boy would also suffer a loss as well - having become dependant on the luxuries of being acquainted and fawned over by a prince. Fae hated to admit it, but he cared about Mark because Kieran did. He became another liability, a second person Fae had to keep out of trouble, and without the excuse of being his brother on top of everything else.

But Mark being a half-faerie in the Hunt was one thing. Hunter, being a pure-blooded Shadowhunter, was far more trouble than Mark could ever be. He was to be untrustworthy, a menace to their kind. At the very least, Kieran could see Mark at any time, though it wasn't entirely approved of by the rest of the fae. Fae, contrastly, was risking a lot by seeing Hunter and the others, if not everything. It was in Fae’s best interest to not allow this to continue into anything more dangerous.

_ You've spent your whole life catering to everyone else's whims, playing the safe route _ , a small voice in the recesses of his mind whispered, urging him to reconsider.  _ What is one selfish thing if it means your happiness? _

He did his best not to give into those thoughts. They would only lead to pain. 

“My Hunter,” Fae said, gently untangling his companion's slim arms. “We have returned.”

Hunter reluctantly and sat up, moving away. Both attempted to ignore the immediate absence of warmth. “ _ Your _ Hunter?”

“You are Hunter - Shadowhunter. You are my Shadowhunter, as opposed to all the others who share the title.”

“Oh. Right." These words were blank, slightly disappointed, as if the speaker wished there had been something more there. Was there ever. "That makes sense.”

Numbly, already longing for the sky and the open expanse of clouds once more, Hunter slid off, clumsily regaining his balance after sitting atop the horse for so long. He looked so miserable that Fae had to physically resist the urge to pick him up and deposit him back on the stead, promising to carry him far far away. He would never have to give this up, never have to go back home to the Institute. 

By the angel, what was it about this boy that was so… _ this _ ?

“So,” Hunter began, face no longer flushed from the moonlight, the grayscale of the dark tunnels pressing in on his features once more. 

Fae slid off his impatient mount and Zoltan began to pace; he never did enjoy the confines of the underground. “Yes? Did you learn from the experience?”

“What? Oh, yes. The ride was more amazing than I ever could’ve imagined on my own. If only more could understand the luxury of riding free like that. When I think about it, we Shadowhunters are the only ones without such a means of freedom. Vampires have supernatural speed, werewolves can run free in their wolf forms, warlocks can go anywhere with portals, and Faerieland is full of diversity. Meanwhile, we have to take cars or the subway, and if we're really desperate, we can pay warlocks for their portals. It's slightly underwhelming”

“Well, the vampires must avoid sunlight, the werewolves can often have trouble controlling their transformations, and we Fey have strict laws that restrain a good deal of our freedom if we don’t prove our worth or are born with the right title. I have worked hard over countless days, nights, months, years, to earn the ability to come here during my rare visits.”

Hunter chuckled, though it wasn't a joke. Was this a classic example of irony? Humankind was very unorthodox. “Well, they say the grass always looks greener on the other side. A life you don’t have can often seem better than the one you do.”

“That statement rings quite true.” If it meant what he thought it did, of course. Which was almost always suspect. 

“This feels so surreal. A faerie and a Shadowhunter, speaking such an average conversation.” His lips quirked up again, full of hope. 

“Well you and I are far from average, my Hunter. Are we not?”

“If, by that, you mean I’m a disgrace to the title of Shadowhunter while you are the best faerie of all by your people's standards - understanding and wise, cunning and powerful, dedicated and caring, loyal and brave-"

“Please, Hunter, you overestimate my skills. There are things about me that my kind consider nothing but born defects.”

“What? That can’t be," he frowned. "Like what? You're so…I mean, you don’t have to say anything, obviously. Sorry, I forgot.”

“It is fine, Hunter," he reassured, placing a hand on his shoulder. It seemed scalding in seconds. "To name one example, I cannot sing. In my culture, that is often a travesty.” He felt pride as Hunter cracked a small smile. “But you, however, are far from a disgrace. I’ve not heard of a Shadowhunter who could play such enchanting melodies.”

Hunter rubbed the back of his head with a light chuckle. “Well, the song you heard before wasn’t written by me. I can’t write songs.”

“But it is you who played, you who memorized the lyrics and melody, you whose voice I heard singing. You have talent very few, if not none, of your kind possess, much less pursue. Do not disregard your abilities, no matter how trivial they seem. Cling to them, for one day they may prove to be all you have.”

“Oh, yes, I could play my enemies to death. I’m sure demons are cowering at the very thought of me strumming a tune to them.”

Fae frowned. “Do not use your verbal irony on me, Hunter. It is quite an annoyance.” He was still confused by the first usage tonight. He wasn't able to decipher another odd technicality. 

“Sorry,” He sighed. “But music isn’t a weapon, Fae. At least, not one I could use in a real situation.”

“Your singing can enchant the right - or wrong - enemies, or be used to impress one that wishes for entertainment as payment.”

“Even if a situation like that were to occur, I don't think I would be brave enough to do that. I'm still just a student, and one amongst many. I've never  _ had _ to be brave. Runes only go so far, and I don’t believe Courage in Combat will help with my stagefright. I think there was said to be a ‘Fearless’ rune created by Clary, but fearlessness can be dangerous.”

Fae stepped forward and pushed Hunter’s chin up to look him in the eyes. “I have heard you at your finest, my Hunter. Once you have begun, you get lost in the sound, and no amount of fear can stop you. If it will help, merely play in front of an audience of one - just me. Of course, the others will not judge you either. I know you have greatness within you. I would be honored to help you in discovering it for yourself.”

Hunter’s eyes seemed to be lost in the process of staring at Fae’s. Was he closer than before? He seemed closer than before. It was rather distracting. “I sing a lot of female songs. It’s kinda embarrassing.”

Fae cleared his throat and tried to concentrate on his words instead. “A woman is known for her own feats of strength. To the faeries, singing worthy of a woman is a compliment. To say otherwise would be to disgrace their sex - and would most likely result in a very unpleasant punishment. You, my hunter, have the enchanting power of a siren. Don’t ever look down upon such an ability.”

Fae didn’t realize his close he’d gotten to Hunter (so it wasn't just his imagination) until he caught a glimpse of the Shadowhunter’s eyes, blue and full, closing hesitantly - just before his own fell shut. He knew - he  _ knew _ \- he should stop, and a part of him screamed to do so. This went against everything he ever learned. He should stop. Fionn didn't break the rules, didn't allow himself to feel these things for mortals, let alone Shadowhunters. And yet a steely part of himself, the version that claimed it wanted equality and trust and love and all those other forbidden things, the one that rallied in silence and waited for something good to come around, let him close the small distance to brush his lips against Hunter’s.

It was electric, like being lit on fire and melting from within. It was the simplest thing, just skin upon skin, and yet it was a meeting of wrongs made right. A bad, bad idea made into something incredible, though incredibly forbidden. Yet there was an excitement, an anticipation to breaking the rules.

It was like being alive.

Really, it was like coming home, or how coming home was supposed to feel.

He barely had time to mull over the pleasant feeling before his senses prickled with intruding magic. He pulled away suddenly, thrusting the Shadowhunter behind his stead, and audible 'whoosh' resounding in a space that had previously been silent. Fae turned and threw out his arm in an underhand swing as his Io flew forward to attack.

“Whoa!”

A barrier went up to block the weapon at the last second, crackling with energy, and Fae relaxed, flicking his wrist to have it return to him.

“A little warning next time would be much appreciated, thanks. Nice to see you too, Fae,” Lock exclaimed with a heavy bout of sarcasm. “Is that a yo-yo?!” he asked with incredulous annoyance.

“This? It is an Io, an ancient and formidable weapon crafted from-"

“Yeah, yeah, but we non-faeries call it a yo-yo.”

Fae rolled his eyes with obvious distaste. “What a terrible name. This is a tool of grace and power. It takes many years to master, and yet you have dubbed it a toy with childish slang.”

“You scared the runes off us, Lock!” Hunter snapped, still red in the face and trying to recover. “Do you always have to make an entrance?!”

“I have no runes, and I do not claim to be an expert, but I don’t believe it is possible to…wait, was that merely a figure of your speech?”

"Damn, I forget that you're clueless," Lock chuckled. “Yes. A basic rule to follow is that if it makes no sense, it’s usually just a figure of speech.”

“I have noticed that trend, yes.”

“Anyway, I noticed when you guys came, but I was busy with work. I’m a teacher at the Shadowhunter Academy now, but I obviously still have clients and couldn’t join you earlier as a result. Did I miss anything interesting?”

Hunter tensed and began to stutter as a light blush took over his face. “W-Well-"

“You missed quite a performance by our dear Hunter,” Fae said, keeping his voice unwavering, though he was still recovering from both shocks on the inside. “I, personally, found it entertaining, but he doesn’t believe me when I praise his ability.”

Lock rolled his eyes. “Of course. Come on, Hunt. You’re great! I’ve known tons of famous musicians, but you’re awesome! Better than Magnus, for sure. He once tried to play the charango to impress this guy - it was terrible.”

He shuddered at the memory and managed to get Hunter to smile. He appeared visibly relieved.

“Forgive me, Lock, but I fear that I have stayed too long,” Fae said. “I don’t wish to give the impression that I abhor your presence-”

“Come on, Fae, I know you’re better than that. Just the fact that you acknowledge the concern for my feelings proves you mean well. I think. Besides, we know you don’t have a lot of control over your schedule. Don’t get into trouble just for our sake.”

“My thanks, Lock. I shall repay your kindness someday.”

“Hey, I’ll even give you a discount.”

“Lock, he’s gonna take that seriously,” Hunter complained.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m not gonna charge you money or anything like that. You make it up to me by being my friend, Fae. Again, I think. It's hard to tell what's 'affectionate' for the fey. Although I won’t protest to any gifts or favors…”

Hunter rolled his eyes and shoved Lock. “Haven’t you ever learned not to toy around with faeries, you crazy warlock? How old are you again?”

“That’s something you shouldn’t ask a warlock you aren’t familiar with if you don’t want to offend them. Or vampires, either. But if you must know, I’m 300 or so. And I’m obviously very mature. In here.”

He pointed to his chest dramatically and Hunter laughed, shoving Lock again. Fae felt a surge of emotion, hearing Hunter’s joyful laughter. He wanted to hear it more, he wanted to be the cause of it. But he couldn’t act like Lock, use sarcasm, verbal irony, or make jokes. Fae didn’t know how to do that, and he probably never would; it wasn’t in his nature, and the skill would be useless in the Hunt. Not to mention his inability to lie posed an issue as well.

Fae swallowed, turning and boarding his impatient stead. “Until we meet again.” He caught Hunter’s gaze. “I look forward to it.”

"Yeah," the brown-haired boy echoed, throat suddenly dry. "B-Bye…"

“See ya!” Lock called, unaware of the tension between them.

“Farewell.”

Fae let his horse take him away, trying to scold himself. Their lips had brushed, the very ghost of a kiss, and it was already phenomenal. As if he needed reminding, the human was a  Shadowhunter. He didn’t even know his real name.

And yet.

_ And yet _ .

He could almost imagine it all over again, the phantom pains of a mouth against his. How invigorating, how magical it was. He tried to push it down again, but his emotions refused to settle. The worse thing was probably that he still wanted to know what it was like, to fully kiss the Shadowhunter, and everything that might happen afterwards.

He arrived back at the campsite and took a single withering look at the scene. He could not go straight back; not like this. Instead, he changed directions and began walking the distance to the river they’d acquired water from. Zoltan curiously watched as he dunked his face in the icy stream, trying to erase the image of Hunter with closed eyes and bowing lips, pressing into him. A real kiss, a full one, long and lasting.

SPLASH!

Fionn let the icy water bite into his skin and deprived himself of air until he grew desperate for relief. He forced his brain to focus on survival instead of his stupid thoughts. How had he been reduced to this level of pathetic within a single night? As he had mulled over so many times tonight, he’d never let love tempt him before, but maybe that’s what made him so unprepared for this recent attraction.

He sulked back to the campsite, ordering his horse to leave him alone, and seeing his brother lying awake. He must’ve woken him when he’d arrived early, before he’d gone to the stream. If Kieran noticed the fact that Fionn’s hair and face were still damp, he didn’t comment on it.

“Brother, it is later than I expected. I feared something bad had occurred to delay you.”

“I had an unplanned excursion, but nothing threatened my health that I couldn’t handle.”

“An excursion of what kind?” he questioned, cocking his head. If anyone was likely to make a secret 'excursion', surely it was Kieran himself.

“Hunter wished to learn of the faeries, to see what his kind refuses to acknowledge. He needed an outlet to his oppressive life, so I showed him what it felt like to ride - what we do when we need a moment of solace in the harsh world we call life. He quite enjoyed it, despite his ineptitude in the skill.”

“You took him on Zoltan?”

“Yes.”

Kieran looked stunned, and he was right to be. The animal was fickle in the best of times and could hardly tolerate being glanced at the wrong way, let alone being in such close proximity to a strange human boy. “And your steed allowed it?”

“With no protests. I am surprised as well. Perhaps I have weakened his will too far in taming him.”

“Or perhaps he approved of Hunter because  _ you _ approved of him. The same thing happens whenever I ride with you - Zoltan did not protest as he does with anyone else." Kieran raised his head with possible understanding. "What are your intentions towards this Hunter?”

He still felt the chill from his damp hair and face in the night air, smoothing over the raw and anxious prickling of his skin, but his stomach twisted all the same.

“I…I wish not to say.”

For once in his life, his ability to speak nothing but the truth became a hindrance. He had never encountered a scenario where he wished he could lie - not until now. He had always prided himself on his ability to speak like a faerie, answering cryptically, allowing people to assume things, etc. He had been in positions where he didn’t know how to answer before, but that was a long time ago. He’d long since learned his lesson.

A soft smile formed across Kieran’s face, and Fionn knew that he’d given himself away. “You love him.”

“That is ridiculous. I don’t even know his name. I wish I could stop these troublesome emotions.”

“Maybe, but at the same time, you need a break, a release from this life of throwing your personal desires away in favor of mine. You deserve to have this one thing.”

“It's not a matter of deserving, brother, and you know that as well as I do. I promised our mother that I’d look after your well being. You and Miach are one thing, but I risk too much to even interact with Hunter - and the others, of course." He shook his head as if to get back on track. "I will not throw away our lives -  _ your _ life - because I pursued something so foolish.”

Kieran frowned. Fionn had always been this way, hiding, fighting, pushing Kieran so that he would be strong enough to handle the world on his own. He became the father that Kieran deserved, because their true father was someone Kieran needed to be protected from. At the same time, Fionn never allowed himself to trust anyone else, never had a childhood and never allowed himself to be happy. Kieran had grown up now, he could handle himself, he had dealt with his brother’s tough teaching and had learned how to survive in the Hunt faster than he might’ve had he been alone. He had admittedly gotten a little softer thanks to Mark, but that didn’t mean he’d let his guard down - rather, it meant he was even more careful because he knew that he didn’t want to lose what he had with Mark, especially because of his failure to do as his brother had taught him all his life.

“It’s not foolish to love,” he argued. “Not when it’s true.”

"It may not be love. It's the beginning of something, perhaps, but love is dangerous for us. It twists one's mind." Fionn scoffed. “Besides, love is foolish in any situation. However…foolishness does not equate to worth.”

Kieran let his small smile build, but Fionn gave a small glare that held little anger behind it. “Wipe that smirk off your face.”

Kieran laughed. “It seems you’ve spent more time with your friends than I had previously assumed. You are adopting their speech patterns.”

“Yes, it is a grueling process. I must concentrate very hard to keep my words straight.”

The blue-haired faerie chuckled. “I’m enjoying your evolution more and more.”

“And I am not enjoying your enjoyment of my change. I will still be your brother no matter what happens, and you’d best be content with my strict teaching style.”

Kieran smiled. “I expect nothing less.”

Though Fionn trusted Kieran and knew he was capable, he still couldn’t leave him - especially in the Hunt - to fend for himself, alone. Mark was a friend, but he couldn’t support Kieran yet, not as well as Fionn could, at least, because he has his own problems. There were many looking to find any excuse to humiliate the former princes and the half-Shadowhunter, and the relationship between Kieran and Mark could only make it worse. Gwyn could only do so much without showing favoritism. Though Fionn knew, in the back of his mind, that Kieran was stronger than Fionn would acknowledge, he would never truly be prepared to let his brother go off on his own. It was a dilemma that Fionn knew he would one day have to face. He was working on it.

“Besides, someone must make up for your softness while you pursue a  _ boy _ .”

Kieran shoved his brother. “You are the one spending far too much time with these outsiders. Now, who is the one that must pick up the slack?”

“It seems I influence you in turn, my Kieran.”

“Do not claim to be so important. Mark has influenced me as well.”

Fionn laughed with his brother. Perhaps he  _ was _ changing too much, and perhaps it was for the better. He had allowed himself to smile with his brother, laugh with him, and even joke around. This was the relationship he wished that he could have more often but refused to allow himself because of his fear of being seen as weak and having his life fall apart. Even in moments like this, being with no witnesses but his brother, he kept up the act because of his paranoia. Now, he’d dropped his guard within the first 60 seconds of the conversation.

He wanted to live like this more often, he wanted this freedom, and he was more than tempted to fall into this ever more risky lifestyle once more. But laughing beside his brother also reminded Fionn of the reason he couldn’t ever dare risk being caught. His brother’s laughter was more awakening than any icy stream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you've survived this long. I know what you're thinking: 'Why is every single chapter about hardcore emotional problems?'   
> Eventually we will surpass the need to bully you into submission with exposition.   
> Eventually.   
> But for now, plots must be moved along, and this chapter was so long it was borderline painful to edit. Like, it took HOURS of staring at the screen and willing it to flesh itself out. However, now it is here, painful as the process was.   
> I feel like I keep promising 'there will be lighthearted crap and hilarity, wait for comedy to ensue' and then keep saying at the end of the chapters 'wait, no, sorry, next one'. I'm trying to steer the story towards tertiary cast issues, too, but that will include writing a lot of entirely new scenes from scratch and that will be a pain to do. As for now, sticking in more human interactions aside from the main cast is going to be a supplement for non-stop emotional traumas and endless 'move along, kids' modular scenes. It's something, for now.   
> Frankly, I shipped Wolf and Pyre from the first time I saw their names, so B-plot romances are probably going to be a part of those extra scenes. I'm so sorry in advance, especially since they're about as likely to punch eachother in the stomach and laugh than to make out.   
> The song from this chapter is Frank Sinatra's Fly Me To The Moon, which is really beautiful, albeit sort. It's from an era of jazz and genuine musical care that is sadly swept under the rug most of these days, and it saddens me. I miss the times when music was about telling stories, about making songs that mean something, as opposed to the overly repetitive tunes clearly produced to become hits that are all too common now. Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those people who thinks they exist in the wrong century or something. I just really love music that was clearly made with the intent to reach others, that has something meaningful to convey. For example, Billy Joel's Vienna is awesome, as is Scenes From An Italian Restaurant. You can't tell me he didn't put a lot of work into those lyrics and that accompaniment, even if you don't like the songs themselves. American Pie and Walking In Memphis are another two I can think of off the top of my head, and they're brilliant.   
> Other music these days can hold value, I just find it harder to find the bands that try to talk about actual stories. The Lumineers is a great example of a group that cares, and Of Monsters And Men and Coldplay are two others I enjoy. I LOVE Panic! At The Disco because every song is different, they draw from a lot of different genres and inspirations (including jazzier tones such as those seen in Crazy=Genius, which is a personal favorite), and their lyrics all talk about something, from a person to a place, the hypocrisy of modern industry, the party scene, addiction, gender issues, and more. They may be catchy, but there is more to each song than just its initial hook, and that is something I can appreciate about the band.   
> Okay, this turned into a musical appreciation tangent and for that I'm very sorry. I just had to ramble for a little bit.   
> Anyways, thanks for reading, hopefully we'll see you next chapter!


	5. One Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sisters are like small children; they need constant entertainment, and if you don't provide it, they will abandon you for someone else. I'm sorry to tell you this, but siblings are betrayers. In other events, Finn is an awkward introvert (when is he not is really more the question) who sings some Imagine Dragons, gets a motivational speech yet again, and makes out with a hot guy. 
> 
> The third thing is definitely most surprising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again, bringing you the next series of events in a veritable soap opera of drama. Watch as the young protagonist overcomes his struggles, more-or-less gets the guy, and gives his personal insecurities a kick to the face. 
> 
> Probably. Probably. 
> 
> He's trying. 
> 
> I think his spirit animal may be Fluttershy from My Little Pony, and that thought is just funny enough to help me get through the majority of any given day. We have the power to do whatever we want to a person and we've made him the equivalent of a talking yellow horse in a kid's show, but based on Dawn Somewhere's MAS, that might not be so bad. Watch his stuff, by the way, he's such a great parody creator I can't even. It's a shame he's leaving YouTube, but his comics are interesting now. 
> 
> Please please please go see this man. I need someone else to geek out about it with. 
> 
> And now, with no further interruptions, here you go.

_ Things I knew when I was young,  _

_ Some were true and some were wrong,  _

_ And one day, I pray, I'll be more than my father's son,  _

_ But I don't own a single gun . . . _

* * *

 

Finn was conflicted, which wasn't anything out of the usual. Being a teenager was a whiplash of idiocy all day every day, but this time that underlying confusion was overwritten by a deep, staving boredom. He had nothing to do, and though he would normally go and see the others, he didn’t want to risk meeting with Fae. Besides, he’d had enough of seeing Wolf, Pyre, and Lock in his everyday life. The Shadowhunter still coveted his alone time and any lapses of normalcy, thank you very much.

However, now both he and his sister were alone in his dorm, together without anything to remotely stimulating. Together they sprawled out on the floor bonelessly, the green eyed girl just to his left.

“Aren’t you gonna go visit your little friends?” Merida asked, voice flat and disinterested. “Because I want to die. Do you want to die?”

“I don’t have to spend every living second with them, Mer,” Finn mumbled back, laying on the floor and staring at the ceiling. “And you can’t die on my floor. The blood alone would be a nightmare to clean up.”

“Well, the mopping would be good for you. Maybe you’ll actually develop muscles in those noodle arms.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Noodle arms? That’s the best you can do?”

"Not very impressive, I know, but I'm tired and bored out of my mind. I promise I'll save my more creative insults for later," she sighed, and he snorted, whacking her across the stomach. She let out a wheezy laugh. "Remind me again why I associate with you?"

"My dashingly good looks?"

"Ah, you don't have those. Maybe it's your unrelenting stubbornness and inability to admit when something is bothering you."

Finn moaned, rolling over on the stained dorm-room carpet and burying his face in the probably-diseased fabric. "Mer, I will kill you. Multiple times, if necessary."

"Sorry for assuming," she began in a way that betrayed she wasn't apologetic at all, poking his shoulder relentlessly as only siblings can. "You just seem to be at your happiest when you come back from a meeting. The only one that might seem bad in the slightest is your -" she paused for dramatic effect, drawing out the words, "- F-E-Y." Graciously, Finn let that part slide.

“Yeah, but it’s not like I don’t get tired of them. How’d weapons training go for you?”

"Ah, don't think I don't notice that subject change. I'm smarter than I look."

She patted his head reassuringly as he started to scowl into the floor. "Mer, I -"

“In response, archery only gets so amusing when you’re ahead of everyone else and the fed up instructor has to walk your classmates through  _ everything _ , step by step. There was this one girl named Molly who could keep up with me and she seemed pretty nice, and there was a guy called Aaron who was halfway decent, but otherwise it was pretty lackluster." She twiddled her thumbs, looking blankly at the ceiling once more with obvious distaste. "Selina tells me she met that famous guy named Simon, by the way. She seemed to like him, and I guess that's good enough for me.”

“He was in one of my classes, but I never got to meet him personally.”

"Shame, we could use a masculine presence in our midst." Again, he tried to slap her, but this time she shoved him in retaliation. "You hit like a girl." 

"Why thank you," he replied, yawning loudly.

Another stretch of quite enveloped the room for several minutes before his sister grunted and rose to her feet. “Well, it's been an absolute riot laying on your disgusting carpet and counting specks on your ceiling, but I wanna go and use my free time to get some actual food. The stuff on campus is enough to give any self respecting human being nightmares." She stretched languidly before extending a hand. "You wanna come?”

He finally sat up, albeit with great reluctance. “Do I wanna go out and watch you repeatedly gush over everything, have an hour long internal debate over whether or not you want it, and then put it down again, just to move onto the next thing within eyeshot and repeat the process until an entire night has gone by, then hurriedly buy something at random, and then listen to you rant about said purchase for the next century? And I’m not even talking about the food yet, because you will inevitably get distracted by anything and everything along the strip, be it clothes, electronics, or miscellaneous objects that have nothing to do with the shopping trip we’re on." He shuddered visibly. "Target alone is a nightmare with you. So how about no?”

She smirked. “Suit yourself. I’ll just steal Selina from her room and leave you here to sulk in your loneliness all on your own."

"I'm not lonely. Honest. And I'm perfectly capable of entertaining myself!" He really, really wished it didn't sound so desperate and pleading.

"Riiiiiight," his companion slurred, flicking him on the nose. He frowned spectacularly in response. "Please, for your own sanity, go see your little friends. Honestly, it’s good for you to get out more instead of playing emo music all day long.”

“I don’t play  _ all _ emo music. There's a depressing amount of Disney mixed in there, too.”

But she was already walking out.

Finn sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. Another three days of being stuck in this place. He didn't want to risk seeing Fae again, yet at the same time, he wanted to see Fae more than anything in order to resolve this…whatever it was they fell into. Already, he didn't get to talk to the faerie as often as he liked to, and this could not ruin their friendship or he'd literally melt. If he left this lying in the air, the place the warrior came to for sanity would be, in effect, gone, and Hunter simply refused to take that from him.

The shadowhunter wanted to say that he completely regretted what he’d done, but he couldn’t. Just envisioning the sensation of nearly kissing Fae for a second made his heart clench rather uncomfortably. He felt the jolt go through him, a sudden and dizzying anticipation of heat, but it had ended too soon. He wanted it, and he didn’t know why. It was Fae. He was…well, to put it plainly, a  _ he _ . Finn was attracted to girls…right?

Well, now that he thought about it, it wasn’t so much that he didn’t like girls and liked guys instead - he just never pursued  _ any _ romance before this at all. He hadn't ever really thought about what gender he found appealing; he had simply swept dating in its entirety under the metaphorical rug. Everyone just sorta assumed he liked girls, and he had never said anything about the matter. They were pretty, and they might occasionally make his heart race, but the offhanded guy could do the same under the right conditions. Maybe that was a sign that he swung both ways?

It was one of those life events he just hadn't ever considered from an investigative standpoint. He wasn’t sure how to react, how he was supposed to handle his feelings. He just knew that he didn’t want to lose Fae, one way or another, and he needed to keep these urges under control. He’d get over it eventually. It was probably just his teenage hormones finally kicking in since he found a place that he could finally be himself, relax, and wasn’t under 24/7 stress.

Hunter concentrated, focusing on the small bit of magic that Lock had put within him to connect him to the meeting ground wards, and found that the only person in there was Fae. Hunter took a deep breath. Well, it was exactly what he needed - a chance to confront Fae and Fae alone. He could apologize, they could get on with their lives, and no one would ever have to know what happened between them.

Hunter picked himself up, debating whether he should bring his instrument or not. Maybe he could play a little after he resolved things with Fae. Music calmed him down, one way or another, and he might need his guitar if things  _ didn’t _ go well with the faerie. If things  _ did _ go well, Fae said that he’d help Hunter with his stage fright by being an audience of one. Hunter needed to learn one way or another, and Fae was convenient. Maybe starting with just one friend would be the right way to go. If all else failed and he couldn’t get the words out, maybe he could use the music as an excuse to talk to Fae, taking up his offer on help.

Finn planned out the encounter in his head, grabbing his guitar case and thinking of a song that Fae might like. For a moment, he wondered if Fae could sing. He'd mentioned before  _ that night _ that he wasn't very good, but the teenager simply didn't know if he believed that. Anyone could sing, and while that didn't guarantee quality, had Fae ever had the chance to try? He imagined teaching Fae to sing, maybe even play the guitar. Finn smiled at the image of Fae attempting to get the guitar to make the right sound and accusing it of treachery when Finn could play it and he couldn’t.

Finn pulled his crystal out of his pocket and opened the portal, hopping through and becoming Hunter. He arrived a short distance away from their actual meeting spot, but Fae’s senses were stronger than normal and the tunnels were specifically chosen to echo in case of intruders.

Maybe Fae would act as though nothing happened. Well, nothing really  _ did _ happen, but something  _ almost _ happened. Just the brush of lips on lips, not even a full  _ something _ . Maybe he was over-thinking this, but he couldn’t just dismiss the fact that he’d almost kissed his friend. He began to have second thoughts, but he knew that he needed to just get this over with.

“Fae?”

The faerie came walking out of his tunnel and into the soft light illuminated by a spell from Lock. “Hunter. I did not expect you.” Ah. So this was where they were now.

He was acting so formal; did that mean that he didn’t want to bring up the subject? That he just wanted to forget about it and never mention it? That was how faeries got around things, he supposed. If they acted as though nothing happened, eventually it would be easy enough to forget and they would be able to successfully ignore the incident forever.

Hunter’s resolve quickly faded. He didn’t want to be the one that brought something up if Fae clearly wanted to forget.

“I-I . . . you said that you could help me with my stage fright by being an audience of one. And since you were the only one here, I . . . well, I guess I figured . . .” Why was he stuttering? Really, why was this a problem?

_ Way to play it cool, hero. You're a regular Cassanova, for sure _ .

Fae’s face relaxed into a small smile laced with a tinge of sadness, not realizing the boy's internal struggles. Thank the angel he was emotionally stunted and couldn't read facial cues.  “I would be honored.”

Hunter nodded and sat down in his usual spot, slightly relieved if he was perfectly honest, and Fae settled against the wall. Hunter appreciated the gesture, and pulled out his instrument. He pretended to tune it even though he really didn’t need to as a method of wasting time  before taking a deep breath.

He strummed the practiced cords of a song he’d been working on for a couple years now, so he knew it pretty well. He wondered, for a moment, if Fae would understand that the lyrics were metaphorical, and he began to panic thinking about how he hoped Fae wouldn’t be concerned throughout the song until he got the chance to explain.

It was too late to back out, and so he simply concentrated hard on starting properly.

“ _I’m bleeding out_ ,  
“ _So if the last thing that I do_ ,  
“ _Is bring you down_ ,  
“ _I’ll bleed out for you_.  
“ _So I bare my skin and I count my sins_ ,  
“ _And I close my eyes and I take it in_.  
“ _I’m bleeding out_ ,  
“ _I’m bleeding out for you_ ,  
“ _For you_.”

Hunter didn’t even think about looking over at Fae, worrying about what he was thinking or reacting. He moved into the next verse, shoving all his concerns to the back of is mind for later. He concentrated on his notes in both his singing and his playing. The multitasking did well to distract him, leaving him little processing power to think about anything else - including how disastrous he might sound. He made it to the chorus again and breezed through that, bracing himself for the next verse.

“ _When the hour is nigh_ ,  
“ _If hopelessness is sinking in_ ,  
“ _And the wolves all cry_ ,  
“ _To fill the night with hollering_ ,  
“ _When your eyes are red_ ,  
“ _And emptiness is all you know_ ,  
“ _With the darkness fed,_ _  
_ “ _I will be your scarecrow_.

“ _You tell me to hold on_.  
“ _Oh, you tell me to hold on_.  
“ _But innocence is gone_ ,  
“ _And what was right is wrong_.

“ _‘Cause I’m bleeding out_ ,  
“ _So if the last thing that I do_ ,  
“ _Is bring you down_ ,  
“ _I’ll bleed out for you_.  
“ _So I bare my skin and I count my sins_ ,  
“ _And I close my eyes and I take it in_.  
“ _I’m bleeding out_ ,  
“ _I’m bleeding out for you_ ,  
“ _For you_.”

Hunter found himself tapping the body of his guitar during parts to keep the beat, and not in a small and unnoticeable way, but specifically loud enough to be heard as a part of the song - something completely unplanned, yet he found that it was fun to improvise, lost in the music and forgetting that he had an audience - or no longer caring about that audience at all. ‘ _ Bleeding Out _ ’ by Imagine Dragons was upbeat and catchy, despite the possibly dark tone of the lyrics.

Before he knew it, he was holding out the last notes of the song and finished, letting the moments after the song fade away. The high of the song took time to wear off, and it was always good to stay in character a little after the end before you broke the atmosphere. Hunter instinctively knew the amount of time needed based on the rhythm of the song and the pacing of it, feeling comfortable all the way up until the end. He let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, relaxing his grip on his guitar. It was then that he remembered Fae sitting at the other end of the room, taking a moment to mentally prepare himself for having to ask for his reaction. He remembered all the problems he had thought of before. Was Fae going to be asking questions about the truth of the lyrics? That was going to be a long conversation, for sure, and Hunter was already planning the details out.

“That was brilliant,” Fae said honestly.

Oh, right, friends are supposed to support each other and encourage one another. He'd forgotten about that.

Hunter felt the twisting of his stomach from embarrassment. “T-Thanks. I like that song and I’ve been working on it for a while. It was written by someone else, by the way, so they weren’t my lyrics.”

Fae gave a smirk. “You didn’t deny my compliment.”

Hunter flinched in surprise, thinking back. “Yeah. I mean, no, I didn’t.” He hated being awkward. He was absolutely fine around everybody else, and then  _ this _ happened every single time he was left alone with Fae.

Were his hands sweating? Damnit, his hands were probably sweating.

Fae stood, walking over and then sitting down next to Hunter. “I would say that you made much more progress than I had initially assumed you would.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s gonna be a new trend. It’s just a one-time thing. I need a lot more practice doing stuff like this, and . . . I don't know. I don’t think you can tolerate me for that long.”

“I can tolerate Pyre’s . . . ” He paused, trying to come up with the word. “ . . .  _ snappy _ attitude and mood swings -"

"I mean, we wouldn't say 'bitchy' because that would describe it perfectly," Hunter mumbled into his laugh, ears tingeing pink as his companion snorted.

" - as well as Wolf’s over-confident remarks."

"The true marks of the avenging heroes are the hair, the mind-numbing attractiveness, and the complete obliviousness to their own god complexes. Love them all you want, they just cannot seem to fathom the idea that they can be wrong," he muttered again, smiling slightly. "Kinda funny, actually. All these fabios with perfect manes that flow in the wind and girls throwing themselves at them legitimately exist outside of sad young adult romances."

Fae was smirking now, shaking his head. "I was making a point. I  _ am  _ making a point. And then the conversation went from our usual comments on our emotional failings towards Wolf's blonde hair."

He was trying to be scolding, Hunter could tell. But by the angel, the Shadowhunter needed some semblance of merriment for his sanity and this (and really, it was quite the dish; late at night in an actual sewer after having been in high school all day, complete with total embarassment and the pain of having finally passed the initial awkwardness of 'will you even still talk to me since we almost made out') was going to have to do.

"Aside from the attitude, he's a literal Disney prince."

"Disney prince?"

"Ah, I'll show you one day. I can't believe I've never seen it before, though, with the hair, the baby blue eyes - it's a recipe for 'date me now'. Now all he needs is the hot girlfriend and the cycle will be complete."

"I think he has one in mind," Fae muttered wryly, glancing at Pyre's tunnel with the subtlety of a train wreck. "And speaking of things we had in mind, where was I?"

"Last I remember, you were going through our friends and subconsciously announcing how lucky we are that you put up with us," he hummed, staring at his feet. The smile remained. "Continue. I promise I'll try not to interrupt."

"I'll hold you to it," his companion replied, clearing his throat. "Right, so I can even tolerate Lock’s ever eccentric style and . . .  _ flashy _ , for lack of a better word, personality. I will have to spend many more years, even centuries, with two of those aforementioned Downworlders. You, however, are quiet, soft-spoken, and talented. You are respectful and shy, willing to keep the peace, and yet you hold a bravery within that could topple mountains should you believe it would save a life. The only trait I must tolerate from you is your insidious denial of all things admirable about you.”

Hunter felt the heat rising to his face despite their joking from earlier. See, and here was another disarming thing; he could never handle compliments from people he found attractive. Like, at all. It was rather unfortunate, really. "I’m not that strong or brave off the field. Not against my parents, at least. There are expectations to uphold, and I can never seem to make them happy. I just . . ." he fumbled for the words, mentally facepalming himself.  _ Get a grip. You had your wits a literal second ago _ . "I don’t get involved in things I don’t understand. Even my music is wrong, which is mostly because I’m self-taught. If you were to have a real musician ask me questions, I’d probably be unable to answer. In that sense, my musical talent is useless in any real situation. I hear that mundanes need to sight-read any music on demand, yet I play by ear. It takes me ages to read one note on sheet music, and I taught myself how to hold my fingers. I probably don’t even do it right.”

Fae chuckled, as he clearly didn't notice the way the teenager was repeatedly kicking himself mentally. Ah, one of the good things about having other friends who were stunted from regular societal cues. “You are only proving my point further. I have always wondered, but I cannot fathom the answer myself. Why do insist on belittling yourself as as you do?”

“I suppose I’m just used to it. My dad never approved of my music, and frankly it's the only thing I thought I excelled at. When you’ve gone your whole life hearing that your dreams aren't worth it and that you’re no good, I suppose it becomes easier to believe it." He laughed slightly, though with no humor behind it. "He’s gotten mad at me about it a lot. He scolded me the first time, and got increasingly angry when I didn't quit. Finally, I missed a training session because I was practicing a song and lost track of time." His eyes glazed over, reliving a moment so poignant it was nearly tangible. "He broke my guitar. Pulled out the strings, totaled the base. It took awhile, but me, my sister, and my best friend managed to raise the money to buy a new one. We’ve been careful since then.”

The faerie cocked his head. “What of your mother? I have heard tales that mothers in your societies are far kinder and it is their job to support their children when they are injured or saddened.”

“She . . ." he swallowed, turning towards the shadows cast off in the corners. They were easier to look at. "She died several years ago, back when I was ten. She was lovely, though: kind, beautiful, and selfless to the very end. My father doesn’t talk about it, but he was seriously messed up when she died, and I have a feeling it contributed to everything else. My sister looks a lot like her and is a great hunter, so in his eyes she's the prodigal child, but he’s never satisfied with me. I can’t go a single meeting getting some kind of 'lesson'. My step-mom was married to him solely for political reasons, but she’s just as bad as him. She might be worse, actually, because I’m not really her son." If anyone could understand politics disrupting family affairs, it had to be Fae, right? "Anyways, in the life of a Shadowhunter, even a mother isn’t always meant to be your friend - at least not forever. A couple years ago, when my parents were moved to Idris while my sister and I remained at the Institute, I was so relieved. It would be far easier to hide my music from my father." He took another pause, trying to figure out what to reveal next. "Before he left, though, I played along, pretended to be the person he wanted me to. I had tried before, tried to do what he wanted, but this time I really through myself all-in to it, even adapting my mannerisms in the months before they were off." Hunter scratched the back of his neck. "It was surprising how much things changed during that period of time. He treated me with respect only when I was lying about who I was, which was honestly the hardest thing I've ever done. I felt more relieved than I had in forever, and yet it was the time when I was least happy.”

Fae hesitated, looking down and considering his words. “Hunter . . . did he abuse you?”

Hunter tensed, averting his gaze downwards and moving to pack his guitar. “No.” Seeing his comrade's concerned expression, he rolled his eyes and gave a lopsided grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Only psychologically!"

“I need not to be a faerie to tell that you are lying.”

“Look, it wasn’t like he beat me to death or anything. He slapped me a couple times and punched me maybe once when I started shouting at him. After that, he stopped.”

“Verbal abuse is still abuse, too.”

"Thus, as I said, psychologically." Hunter slammed the lid of the guitar clase closed and snapped the locks shut. “It’s my fault, all right? I mean, I'm not going to do a 'woe is me' soliloquy about the experience, but he always wanted someone who could grow into his shoes and I couldn't be that. I never listened to him when he was trying to help me become a proper Shadowhunter. I’m the one that’s messed up, that can’t be what he needs me to be. I don’t even  _ try _ for his sake!”

Fae frowned. “You are doing what is in your heart. You cannot change who you are, and you have the right to choose your path.”

Hunter stood and turned away from Fae, gripping the handle on his guitar case tightly. “It’s not that easy. You, of all people, should know what it’s like, being in a world where you have to change things about yourself to survive.”

Fae flinched visibly. “H-How . . .?”

Hunter turned back. “I don’t have to be a faerie to understand that the Wild Hunt is tough. It’s a matter of pride and survival there, and you don’t have the freedom to do as you wish. I know that I probably have it better than that, but it’s the closest thing that I can think of. Your life was planned out for you the moment you were born, you have a predestined path that you can’t escape because it comes from your society itself. You’re a faerie. You live as a faerie, you grow as a faerie, you train as a faerie, you think like a faerie, you act like a faerie, and if you step out of line, you lose your title, respect, and you lose your entire life because you aren’t what they wanted you to be - what you  _ had _ to be." He scowled. "I’m a Shadowhunter. I live as a Shadowhunter, I grow as a Shadowhunter, I train as a Shadowhunter, I think like a Shadowhunter, I act like a Shadowhunter, and if I step out of line, suddenly I’m a disgrace and I lose my entire life and credibility because I wasn’t what they thought I should be! I know that it’s not the same, that you probably have it much worse, but it’s just so  _ frustrating! _ ”

Fae stared for a moment, before he cleared his throat and stood. “Oh. Yes, I suppose I have no doubt that it is much harder in the Hunt than in your Institute. You are correct in assuming that you have an easier life than I. In the Hunt, it is a matter of pure survival, and I have no choice but to be who I am told. There's no deviation between ostracism and reputation or thriving; it is life or death. There are countless of my kind, many of my brothers included, who would jump at the opportunity to slay me." He let out a puff of air. "I don't blame them. That's how we are raised, but you are not bound by the same circumstances. If you wish to love music, then nothing should be allowed to stop you. You can excel at both your musical talents and your official obligations. Mundanes are kind enough to look past your professional experience - or lack thereof - should you show that you can handle yourself at the very least, and you could get lessons." He took a moment to narrow his eyes as if in contemplation, and if Hunter didn't know better he would swear the immortal was blushing. "I know not many Shadowhunters, but I know that you are one of the best, morality-wise. You are intelligent and open to understanding all perspectives. You have a kind heart, your melodies are powerful, and you could win anyone with just a glance. I can’t imagine how any could deny you what you wish.”

Hunter’s head fell. “I can barely even sing if there are eyes on me, let alone speak out and make a difference. I can’t fight for what I want.”

Fae scowled and stepped forward, putting his hand underneath Hunter’s chin to force him to look up. “You must stop this now. You are not brave right now, yes, but you can learn to become so in the future. That's something that comes in time, but you won't ever be able to build up to that point if you don't take some risks." He squeezed his face a little tighter. "Today you have proven that you can make progress with me. If you are kicked out of the Institute or have to run away, Lock wouldn’t hesitate to assist you in finding a place to stay. You tell me of a loving sister and friend who keep your secrets and support your music. Do you think you are alone?" The faerie let go, seething. "Be grateful that you have allies. My own father believed that I was worthless, that I was not strong enough and could never be a man, and since he failed with me, he had Kieran instead. I did everything I could to prove myself. I pushed myself to be better than anyone else and conquered countless challenges, some of which were said to be impossible, but he never even blinked. To him, I would be nothing but weak.”

Hunter stared, because despite the faerie's hardships he hadn't even fathomed the idea that Fae could be anything but himself, mysterious and powerful. “You? B-But you’re amazing! How could anyone not see that? You’re strong, smart, loyal, and -"

“For a long time, I hated who I was as well, and I was forced to change myself if I wished to survive. One of the incredible things about humanity is that they have the potential to change, to adapt, and that's why I'm telling you that if your society doesn't approve of you than they are the ones who must think things over. I will tell you now, from personal experience, that remaking yourself because you have no choice is not a path you wish to take, and I do not want you to have to go through such an ordeal." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I love you the way you are, and I refuse to see you throw your happiness away. I have seen enough of that in Faerie, and I need not to see it within this place, this sanctuary that I flee to so that I can be who I wish. This should be a safe haven for you as well, for if you cannot be yourself here, where can you? I tire of hearing you deny your worth like this. You are not perfect, but no one truly is and you are close enough for me. Do not lose yourself, because I could not bear to see you, my Hunter, disappear before my eyes as so many have.”

For a long while, nothing was said. Nobody really  _ fought  _ for him like that, pushed for him, made him try to be better and told him that he was  _ good _ , that he was loved. Selina and Merida, they were there, but they were also his family. It was easy to confuse genuine praise for familial obligation, but hearing it from someone else, someone who didn't have to care but inexplicably did, felt great. Like seeing the sun through a haze of clouds, dispelling a little bit of the gray. 

It was only after a few minutes of silence that Hunter realized just how close Fae had gotten during his speech. They were so near that he could make out the flecks in his companion's eyes, glimmering golds and sterling silvers, as they danced around the irises. Shards of memorabilia, so bright, possibly the most entrancing thing he'd ever seen. Breath intermingled, sharing space, warm and comforting between them as it reminded Hunter of their near-kiss. Lips across lips, so slight and yet so potent - just the thought made his veins boil. It had made him feel important, undeniably appreciated and cared for. He wanted to feel that surge of emotion again, possibly more than he had ever wanted anything. 

And then, in a move so deft and decisive it was impossible to tell who had started it, Fae’s mouth was on his and everything else faded away. Finn couldn’t believe there was a time that he thought their almost-kiss was the best thing that happened to him, because kissing Fae was so much  _ better _ than a simple brush. He fell headlong into the current, feeling Fae’s arms pull him in closer so there was no space between them. Fae’s soft, shoulder-length hair, unbeknownst to them, had turned a shade of platinum-gold and was continuing to grow lighter and lighter still, something that had never happened before. Fae had never been this content, this  _ lost _ before. Absentmindedly, the boy noticed that the faerie's lips tasted bittersweet, and oddly satisfying combination of smoke and honey, and the smell of a campfire filled Hunter’s nose. Hunter was surrounded by nothing but the faerie, shuddering as he parted his lips and felt the heat where their mouths were fused together increase ten-fold. It only seemed to encourage Fae, his grip tangibly tightening and his breathing becoming more labored. 

Hunter had never kissed anyone - not for real, not like this. He had no idea what he was doing, but Fae didn’t seem to notice, let alone care. The tension from the faerie's shoulders had melted away, as did his thoughts, and as he gripped the teen a little tighter and pressed in a little closer Hunter found he was following suit. As it turned out, there was a lot about the art of kissing nobody tells you about. They didn't mention the fact that he'd lose all control of his limbs; hands can card through someone else's hair, cling to their shoulders, and cup around their jawbone without any commands or conscious intent. There's a heart-aching pleasure involved, dizzying and intoxication, almost painful but better than anything he’d ever experienced. It was like a desperate hunger that was finally being sated, a puzzle piece clicking back into place. People never bothered to inform him about the way he started to feel  _ full _ , complete, so wrapped up in someone else that his own worries and problems fly back into their drawers. It's freedom.

Hunter had never realized how trapped he had really felt. He had known that things weren’t perfect in his life, that he sometimes felt like he was slowly being worn away at each day, but things seemed different now. Like he wasn't so alone, like he was actually satisfied, and that made him notice just how miserable being on his own was.

“Fae . . ." he gasped suddenly, because humans have a biological need to breathe and if he continued he would suffocate to death.

Maybe, looking back, he should have allowed that to happen. It would have been a rather pleasant way to go.

He thought he heard the faerie say something, but even afterwards, when his mind was clearer, he couldn’t recall what it was. His voice almost seemed to get lost in the air, warm and deep yet hazy, as though the sound was incapable of being heard and only the vibrations remained. For just a moment, if he concentrated hard enough, he thought he could remember the syllables that he’d heard, like translating a mnemonic device into what it stood for. He  _ knew _ he could remember if he just . . . 

Fae pulled away so abruptly that Hunter had no time to react. Frankly, he was still a little starstruck, still trying to process what had just happened. Wasn't the feeling of kittens and rainbows supposed to last a little longer? Damn, he wasn't  _ that _ terrible, was he? Fae hadn't seemed to be too disappointed a minute ago, after all.

He was about to voice those thoughts exactly (and, you know, maybe demand that he get at least another minute to find his brain again or something before he was abandoned to the elements) when he began paying attention again to what Fae was  _ doing _ as opposed to his withdrawal. Strangely enough, the faerie was standing a small distance away and frantically working to fix his disheveled hair, which was darkening to a rich maroon in his annoyed state.

Numbly, Hunter felt a rush of pride.  _ He _ had messed up that hair, run fingers through it.

And then, with a knock over the head from reality, he realized what was going on.

“Dammit, Lock, why  _ now? _ ” the immortal hissed. "It's always something. Always! Decades and he never ceases to disturb my peace at every instance!"

The air hummed as a portal suddenly appeared, and Hunter scrambled to fix his own appearance, tugging down his shirt and blindly smoothing down his head. Hunter tried to reassure himself that Lock was just going to pop in like his normal eccentric self and everything would be normal. The warlock was so flamboyant and absorbed in his own problems that he was as blissfully ignorant in matters of the heart as the rest of them, surely.

Luckily, Lock was so lost in his own thoughts and prior excitement that he failed to notice their painful awkwardness. “Ta-da! I have arrived, party poopers!”

He looked between the two of them with a level of obliviousness near excruciating. Fae glanced over, hair growing deeper and deeper by the second, simmering with barely veiled frustration. Hunter sat in the corner, beyond flustered and trying his damndest not to twitch. 

Lock tilted his head. “Did . . . I miss something?”

“I’m leaving,” Fae declared.

Hunter shot him a panicked look, trying to convey, ‘ _ You’re leaving  _ me _ to explain this?! _ ’

Fae glared right back, shouting out a silent message of, ‘ _ I can’t lie; better you than me! _ ’

Fae whistled for his horse and climbed aboard with no real explanation or goodbye, simply swinging his legs over the side of his steed and clamouring off. Hunter resisted the urge to draw the faerie back and strangle him, but apparently murder is supposed to be counterproductive. The intruding warlock merely blinked, very confused. 

“Is Fae angry at you? Did you guys get into a fight?"

In that moment, the Shadowhunter mustered all of the eloquence at his disposal in order to answer. “Um,” he mumbled, eyes wide and somewhat traumatized, to the casual observer.  _ Spoken like a true hero. _ “Huh?”

“It was that scarring?” Lock frowned, knitting his brows together. “Wait a minute, did he finally snap at you because of the music thing?”

Hunter looked down at his guitar in his hands in confusion. The music thing? His insecurities?

Then he realized that the flashy immortal had given him the perfect route of escape.

“Yes! I-I mean . . . h-he tried telling me again, but I kept denying it, and then . . .then he snapped and told me about his f . . . a-actually it’s not my place to say, but I realized he’s got it so much worse than I do. He’s risking everything just to come and talk to us, and yet here I am complaining about stage fright!” By the angel, he sucked at this. He probably looked borderline crazed.

Hunter buried his face in his hands both to emphasize his point and to hopefully hide anymore evidence of what had happened not five minutes ago. He's kind of an insecure mess anyways, but was what he was saying really a lie? In all honesty, Fae was surrounded by beautiful, tough, otherworldly beings all the time. He'd probably just kissed the teenager out of pity, and Hunter had stupidly decided to become clingy after a few compliments and some attention. Which was, you know. Sad. It's not like there was much competition for his affections, but projecting them onto one of his only friends was slightly terrible. 

Well. So much for putting everything behind them. 

Lock sighed, unaware of Hunter’s inner conflict. “Look, Hunt. We all know you’re great, but it  _ does _ get a bit tiring hearing your protests again and again. Now, I know a thing or two about Shadowhunters, and I understand why you’d be afraid of getting on their bad side. Just know that we’re all beside you. We’re Downworlders, sure, but that doesn’t mean we’re unable to help.”

“Fae said that too. If I got kicked out, you’d be the first person to offer me a place to stay.”

The immortal snorted as if it were an undisputed fact. “Of course! I’m 300 years old, which is not too shabby for a warlock, so I’ve got plenty of resources if you need a home to settle into. Heck, you could move in with me if you trusted me enough. And I’ve got connections to Magnus, who’s got connections to Alec, who’s got connections to Robert Lightwood. I’m sure he can do something if all else fails.”

Hunter shook his head, almost touched. “I don’t think we need to bother him over just little me.”

“We can and we would if necessary. No backing out now - you  _ are _ worth bugging the Inquisitor for.”

“That's hypothetical right now, and I think that's really nice of you to say, but -"

“No ‘buts.’ We should all work on your self-esteem. Constantly berating your children is the surest way to make them outgrow their insecurities, right?”

“That’s…I mean, that’s not right on a number of levels. Why are you allowed to  _ teach _ , anyways?”

Lock stormed right past that idea, waving him off without being deterred in the slightest. “I should consult Pyre and Wolf about this. Perhaps we can get you to perform -”

“No! I can’t perform! Are you crazy?!”

Lock smiled sadly, patting him on the head like a particularly amusing dog.  “Oh, small child, you are adorable, and just as hopeless.”

“Hey! I’m nearly nineteen!” he whined, stomping his foot. And  _ no _ , he was not a  _ child _ , that was instinctual. Obviously. 

“Magnus looks nineteen and look at  _ him _ ," the warlock hummed with a faux shudder, bopping him on the nose. 

“He’s like, 400. Immortals don’t count!”

Lock laughed, which Hunter didn't appreciate. “Well, we’ll figure something out eventually. Take it from a guy who’s seen a few centuries - it’s not healthy to block out the rest of the world and let your fears control you. You can perform in front of us, right? That’s one step closer to getting over this stage fright.”

“I can only perform when I think no one’s listening or are distracted by something else. I have to pretend that there’s no one in the room just to get started.”

“Well there you go. You master the technique of pretending no one’s listening, and you’re all good. Fae means well, and you can make up with him later. You need a boost of self-confidence, my friend. I know a great place for Downworlders, Nephilim, and mundanes alike."

Why did that sound like some sort of invitation?  _ Why? _

"It’s a non-racist place and any fights or quarrels get you instantly expelled, so there’ll be no Shadowhunter haters with bones to pick," he proceeded casually, leading up to his point with anticipation sparking in his eyes. He really, really didn't trust that look on the magic-user. Not one bit. "And so, if I were to tell you that there was a -"

“A party?” Hunter asked with dread.

_ Parties _ . The downfall of every protagonist in a teenage rom-com. Instantly, he was suffering from the sort of shell-shocked delusions coma patients endured in stasis.

Clearly, though, Lock hadn't gotten the memo.

“You know it!" he grinned wickedly. "And no backing out, or I'll flay your flesh from your bones. It’s not like I’m making you perform or anything; I'm inviting the whole gang, including Mr. Macho and Rebel-Without-A-Cause. It’ll be great, and it’ll maybe help you relax a bit.”

Hunter groaned, but when Lock got into a party-mood, he was unstoppable. Perhaps it  _ would _ be a good way to get his mind off things, even if the things he'd be preoccupied with would be trying to keep his drink from getting spiked. He didn’t even want to  _ start _ thinking about how he’d royally screwed things up with Fae. At least avoiding social interaction was a draining task that would block out his dark thoughts for a little while. So when Lock summoned his magic and sent a message to Pyre and Wolf kindly informing them (or, as the Shadowhunter perceived, borderline threatening them beneath the pain of an immortal death) to come along, the teen didn't stop him.

The night had already been long enough. What was one more agonizing hour?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, you've survived to chapter five. Lots of inspirational speeches took place yet again, but it ended with a make-out and awkwardness, so it dialed back to the typical teenage experience after all. 
> 
> The song this go-around was The Gun Song by the Lumineers, which is an awesome band, by the way. I think I mentioned them previously, but here they are again. They're pretty cool. 
> 
> Also I'm listening to the band The Damnwells again, and I gotta say that I've missed them. They were solid and their song Golden Days was always the one I'd listen to when life went south for me. It never failed to calm me down and make me feel a little less alone, even if it's not everyone's musical taste. My dad contaminated me with his love of alternative rock. 
> 
> Anyhow, please stick around for next week, as there is a party we're forcing our characters to attend, despite the fact that their enthusiasm levels are equivalent to getting teeth pulled. Eh, it's something different, and my area on this isn't plot. I do the filling, editing, revising, and adding, and CrystalHeartZyx is having control of the overarching story and keeps drawing in motivational speeches that I try to make slightly less heavy. Apparently the characters aren't the type to punch the shyness out of their friend. 
> 
> It's a shame, really. That would have been a fun scene to write out. 
> 
> If you're still reading this, thanks for looking at this story and please check out my other stuff. There's a lot of malec fluff in my other oneshots. Have a great day!


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